Pygmalion
by Zerbinetta
Summary: How is a pesky Fade spirit to solve the dilemma of who should be the Warden in its novelization of the story of the latest Blight? Why, by letting pre-Ostagar Alistair choose his own love interest by meeting them all, of course!
1. Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

This fic was inspired by a Les Mis parody with Valjean and Javert changing places for a day to allow hilarity to ensue. Needless to say, I adored it and the premise occurred to me when I thought of doing a short Alistair piece. As everyone and their dog knows, Alistair has quite the female following among DA fans and most fics on this site are about him and the female Warden. With all these random women throwing themselves at him, the least he deserves is to get a chance to have an opinion about this, no?

This is a fic-on-a-whim; I wasn't going to post it, but most of the dialogue just kind of wrote itself and then it seemed too much of a shame to leave it behind. Under ten chapters max and I intend to cover all the origins – including both the human and elven mage – so this should be quite a wild ride. Also, just to assuage anyone's fears: no matter what I might put him through, I like Alistair as a character very much; kudos to David Gaider and Steve Valentine for really making him come to life.

Just a note: I picked the names of the Wardens to be entirely too long (a Mary Sue standard) and meaningful – google them if you like, they should be fitting.

Apologies if you don't get too many chuckles out of it, but I really enjoyed writing this stuff.

**o.O.o**

**Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting**

**o.O.o**

If there was one annoying part of warfare, it was all the _waiting_.

Not to be taken wrongly, Alistair adored the chance to finally be out in the open air, without a hawk-nosed Chantry sister tracking his every move, but even freedom got a little tedious after a while. Especially when the others were engaged in all sorts of activities and he, being the junior Warden, just didn't have the same authority with the normal soldiers to prove his mettle.

Or Duncan just didn't want the officers to start noticing how much that random unimportant nameless Warden resembled their king. Though Alistair could admit, it was an almost laughable comparison – as if he'd ever _braid his hair_ like that. There were some men on whom that kind of thing looked imposing – after meeting Loghain Mac Tyr in person for the first time, Alistair could easily testify that not even a bright pink bow would have made the man less intimidating. Some insisted on doing it out of fancy and, well…

Given how shiny the king's armor was, combined with this fact, Alistair was forced to wonder if there weren't other reasons to the lack of a royal heir besides the queen's supposed barren-ness.

Moving swiftly on from that topic.

Not that he was expecting excitement at every turn, but with Duncan away, there was only so much he could do. There weren't too many Wardens around and Alistair didn't know them all too well, which meant that any pleasant conversation was scarce.

Which was why when he encountered a squirrel that was muttering to itself, Alistair thought his cheese-deprived imagination had simply gone a little overboard.

However, when he kept looking at it, waiting for the sight to vanish after blinking, the squirrel spotted him, went very still and obviously ceased being a figment of his imagination. It also had red, glowing eyes.

When the squirrel cleared its throat and tried to assume a semi-dignified pose, Alistair knew it was trouble.

"Grey Warden Alistair?" it asked, not squeakily enough for a proper squirrel.

At times when he was absolutely speechless, Alistair's brain tended to go on autopilot; which wasn't always a good thing. "Ah, yes?" he asked, rather shakily.

It was a talking squirrel. And it knew him. And, apparently, it was very quickly trying to reorganize its plans on how this scenario should have played out.

"I'm- ah - your fairy godmother!" the being improvised quickly. Out of nowhere, there was a small shower of sparkles, which would have utterly convinced Cailan, at least, and succeeded in confusing Alistair. The squirrel smiled brilliantly, though it looked quite forced, and internally cursed her lack of research into Fereldan fairy tales. "I have come here to grant you a single wish for your acts of goodness!"

Alistair blinked, actually considering the idea. After all, the tales of griffons had been true…

"Really? But… I haven't done anything yet, really." Then, he remembered the first thing all templars were taught; the mage you are attracted to based on your sexual preference might be cute, but if they start acting overly friendly, heads up. Take special care if their clothing becomes a) skin-tight or b) too shiny. "Hey, wait a minute… I'm not a mage, so you might as well try your tricks on someone else, demon!"

The apparition sighed, looking at the sword raised to her face with chagrin.

"So much for the easy way. And here they said he was a harmless idiot…" she muttered to herself, making the sparkles vanish.

Alistair didn't lower the sword even when the spirit once again resembled a normal squirrel. "I don't care who _they_ are, but I'll show you harmless if you don't tell me exactly what in the Maker's name you are!"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Rolling went the squirrel's red-glowing eyes, but she thought she might as well spill the beans. She had to do so anyway, she guessed, to make this safe. "I'm a Fade spirit temporarily possessing this form to gain access to your world. This thing requires concentration, so be a good little human and stop gawking like an idiot."

"I doubt it would be as exhausting to send you back where you came from." Still, the squirrel wasn't yet laughing maniacally – did it have the vocal chords to do that? – and appeared to want to talk, not chew on his corpse. So Alistair decided to give it the benefit of doubt. "Now tell me what you want before I give it a shot."

The squirrel gave a resigned sigh, as if to say she surrendered. "Sure, whatever." Man, if he were this eager to give other things a shot, writing that one chapter would be a cakeball. "Anyway, I represent an independent group of spirits capable of seeing the future. Long story short, we're interesting in writing a book about the upcoming Blight." she summed up, looking as business-like as a squirrel reasonably could.

Once he got over the immense _weirdness_ of the situation, Alistair actually perked up. This was interesting – he didn't know Fade spirits had a market for war novels! Come to think of it, he didn't know _anything_ about Fade spirits writing books.

Not that it deterred his enthusiasm.

"Really?" A nod. "Wow! Am I in it?" he asked, eagerly now.

The squirrel managed a diplomatically indulging smile. "I wouldn't be wasting time here if you weren't."

"Is Duncan in it?" Alistair asked after a moment, keen on the idea. If anyone was going to stop the Blight, Duncan had to be it.

The squirrel felt a small drop of sweat tingling down her temple, but swallowed any possible remark about that. It was time to use what fortune tellers such as she scientifically termed a Jedi Truth. "Um, yeah, of course! In fact, two books already published had him in it!" she added with a cough-like laugh, hoping he wouldn't ask anything too specific. "Fun stuff…"

"Could I have a look?"

"Sorry, copyright of the Fade." There was that, of course, not that Alistair likely knew what it meant. "But, anyway, back to my reason for being here. The thing is, you being a major character-"

"Why me?"

The squirrel blinked, her train of thought broken. "Huh?"

Alistair flushed just a little, but continued his question. "I mean, I like the idea, but I'm just one Warden…"

"And the son of Maric Theirin, yeah."

The redness didn't fade, mild frown aside. "Even Fade spirits know about that?" he asked glumly, uncertain what to think about it.

"Let's say we're well informed." the squirrel suggested. It was difficult to imagine the story without Alistair in it, though, so she had obviously made a miscalculation there. "Anyway, you're not the main character, don't worry about that."

"Phew, that's a weight off my shoulders."

"Can you shut up and listen?" Alistair did, biting back any childish reply. Things were actually getting interesting. "Okay. The thing is, we're not yet decided on who another major character in the story should be. We've got six candidates lined up, but haven't yet reached consensus."

And he was supposed to help decide? "I guess I'll need a bit more information if I'm to help you with that." At least then, he could blame it on her if he chose wrong. But wait, six candidates?

The squirrel anticipated that question. "You know that Duncan is off to find one more recruit before diverting to Ostagar? That recruit is going to be teamed up with you for a while. Also, our intention is to pair you two up." She sped up a bit at that last part.

Alistair looked rather confused. "But I thought you said that we're already paired up in the…"

"Eh, have you two be involved romantically."

"Rom- _what?_" The spirit cringed, which was a most peculiar sight. While Alistair wasn't regal or kingly at this point (and might not eventually end up that way), there was some trace of a commanding personality in him. And it tended to surface at the _worst_ times. "We're almost certainly in the middle of a Blight here; there's no time to waste with personal involvements!"

_But but but! _The spirit tried to reformulate her thoughts and construct an argument that wouldn't contain the phrase _you'll have it once Duncan kicks the bucket_. After all, the slash writers would have a field day if that particular event ended up differently. "They're young, preternaturally pretty, supremely skilled with their weapons and liable to fall in love with you."

"I'm a Grey Warden; I can't forget about my duty!" Still, the words _love_ and _family_ did have meaning to Alistair. The Grey Wardens were family, in a way, but it was different…

"Fine, fine. Let me put it like this. You go through with this for me and I'll tell you a bit about the future. Nothing important to the general scheme of things, like how the Blight can be stopped or what happens at a specific point of time, though."

Any kind of information about the future was tempting, but Alistair had several questions first. Were these _candidates_ female? Because he'd had a joke like that played on him by the other Grey Wardens, and it hadn't been funny. Seriously not. The spirit chortled, blushed under her fur, but replied that they were indeed all women.

"This won't be painful or otherwise harmful, right? I mean… won't it be wrong for the timeline if I know who survives the Joining?"

"Oh, no worries about that." The spirit had a plan for that part, too. "Once we're done deciding here, you won't remember me or your encounter with the lovely ladies any more than a very peculiar dream. We're aiming for realism here, after all."

"And these women… any one of them could end up in love with me? That seems a little… convenient."

"Seeing as only one of them is going to get recruited, that hardly matters, so you don't have to be too worried about that. The bottom line is, yep, any one of them could end up being that one special lady. If you play your cards right, of course, Romeo." the squirrel winked, almost laughing again at how confused he looked.

"Ro-what?"

"Never mind that." Getting down to business once again, the squirrel produced a small ring with a bright red gemstone, doubling as a button. "Here, put this on and don't lose it."

Now was the moment when the Grey Warden swallowed uncertainly and looked ready to back away. "I-I'm flattered, but it's a little too soon-"

"No, silly boy, that's the McGuffin Ring. It'll transport you from one reality to another – meaning from one candidate to another."

"So I gather this isn't going to be a nice cheese dinner and conversation with one at a time?" Alistair asked dejectedly, taking the object. It wasn't overly masculine or feminine – just enough to make it relatively within the realm of taste and visible.

"Where would the fun in that be? Besides, we need to see how well you work with these girls. It's likely the dimension will start in medias res – meaning once you get there, she'll know who you are and why you're together, probably." After all, it was doubtful that Alistair knew any Latin, so she had to explain. Honestly, these Fereldans… "I'm hoping we'll end up with a setting where some spicy dialogue ensues."

"That's a little harsh, playing with people like this." Alistair couldn't resist commenting. He was actually looking forward to this a little, but at the same time, it seemed… frivolous. "I thought Fade spirits had better things to do, like debate the fate of the universe or something."

"Yeah, but after thousands of years, it gets just a little boring, you know? So we spend our time writing stories and reviewing each other's work. It's great fun." the squirrel assured him when he looked skeptical. "This is just going to end up a published work, so there's several authors working on the story."

Alistair sighed. Well, there was no harm in doing this, he supposed, seeing as the other Grey Wardens had yet to return and waiting around was boring without cheese. "Very well, then. Do I at least get the names of these… women… or their likenesses? It could get awkward if we end up in a crowd and I'm unable to recognize her."

"Good point." The squirrel tapped her forehead, then smiled. "Tell you what, seeing as I do like you and I had cookies today, I'll let you choose where to go first. Just remember – press the gemstone on the ring once you've had enough to make your judgment and move to the next one. Once you've gotten through all six of 'em, the ring will send you back here and we'll talk."

"So there isn't some kind of safety button here to bring you into the situation?" And Alistair knew he was a _master_ at creating awkward situations that required immediate sinking into the ground.

"Don't worry; I'll be watching and taking notes. Also, I'm pretty sure you can't die in a contrived dimension." Not that any of them would try to kill him, but… well, she was pretty certain.

Six paintings materialized out of thin air near the spirit. It was about as natural as this whole situation, so Alistair wasn't too peeved about it after a moment or two. Besides, he was admittedly curious about these women he was supposed to potentially be… _involved_ with. The pictures of female Grey Wardens had given him a bit of confidence, seeing as they weren't off-putting or older than, say, Duncan. Each of them had been a woman captured at her best, but the images had focused on their skill and prowess rather than physical appearance.

These six portraits seemed to have been crafted to show off the latter, if at all possible. In fact, Alistair was relatively certain he had seen such a procession of portraits brought to Bann Teagan once or twice, when Lady Isolde had felt particularly pushy regarding her brother-in-law's single status. Her Orlesian cousins had been rather like exotic birds; a whirl of color, feathers and screeching high-pitched laughter.

These women were… different. The spirit hadn't been joking; each of them was beautiful in some way. They were actually very diverse racially; three of them were elves, prevalent against two humans and two dwarves. Now there was a surprise; Alistair hadn't seen too many dwarf women. There were surface dwarves around, sure, but…

"Not that the ogling isn't adorable, but I really don't have all day."

Feeling the heat rushing to his cheeks, Alistair focused on the dominant group. Ever since leaving the Chantry, he had discovered that non-human women – elves in particular – were more appealing to him. Perhaps this was because only humans were allowed to join the ranks of the clergy; none of them had been overly nice or open. Moreover, he had known them for years and years. And, of course, elves were far more common on the surface.

The one on the right was easily the most eye-catching, with an ornate bow in her hands and windswept charcoal hair only partly obscuring a rich pattern of spirals adorning her forehead. Alistair hadn't met any Dalish yet, nor had he known that any of them wanted to be Wardens. Moving on, in the center, a waiflike redhead had the odd combination of a flower garland on her head and a sword in plain view. Framing the trio from the left was a blonde reading a thick book, but the nonthreatening image was all but obliterated when Alistair recognized that it wasn't a dress she was wearing.

Right, that made it easy.

"How about we start with her?" Alistair pointed at the redhead, immediately hearing the voice of Arl Eamon chiding him that it was impolite to point at someone so obviously. But somehow, the thought that he might very well be looking at his love drowned out the words. The name _Tabris_ was engraved in the portrait frame, though Alistair wasn't certain if that was her first name or surname.

The spirit grinned from ear to ear, as if she had won money on a very good wager. "City elf it is!" she whooped. "Just remember, press the ring once you know enough about her to move on."

No coercion necessary to make him choose the OTP; how great was that?

"But what about-"

The squirrel, hoping for a good send off, didn't wait for him to finish the question; she hopped on the gemstone, pressing down and making the templar disappear mid-sentence. Well, he knew all that was necessary, so his question couldn't have been overly important anyway. This would go marvelously, the OTP would be decided…

And maybe those protesting to pick four Wardens – one for each love interest – would finally shut up and realize just how much more dramatic potential this angle had.

Maybe she should have mentioned that the rest of the girls would be randomized…

Oh, well. It wasn't like anything bad was going to happen, right?

**o.O.o**

"Alistair! _Alistair!_" There was someone shaking him, but maybe waking up would stop it. Alistair decided to try it to get the person to stop and found himself face-to-face with the redheaded elf from the portrait. She wasn't wearing the flowery wreath and her sword was sheathed, but it was most definitely her. She seemed satisfied to have woken him, but frowned deeply nonetheless. "That's it right there; no more of that "special" cheese for you. I told you you'd feel weird."

For his part, Alistair had absolutely no idea how he'd ended up lying on a blanket near a fire with the elf kneeling nearby, nor where they actually were (the camp looked strangely small to fit a whole army, yet there was a rustle of people and voices not too far away), but didn't particularly care.

It had actually worked. So it hadn't been a demon. And – Maker above – that portrait hadn't done her justice at all.

The only bad thing about the whole situation was that Alistair had absolutely no idea how to address her. Tabris… well, he really didn't know. Obviously, they knew each other by now, so asking for her name would be strange and suspicious… and this wasn't helping his slightly dazed state in any way.

"Uh… yes, yes you're right. Bad dreams… definitely of the non-good kind. Do we have anything else left to eat?"

"Yep, got some stew left right here!" She had a bright, chirpy smile and _food_ for him. Alistair was beginning to think that this falling in love business might actually be easy. By the time these thoughts registered, the elf was already handing him a bowl and a spoon. "I thought you'd want to get some eventually!"

"This is… good." Alistair blinked. It wasn't rabbit, but something relatively close to it. He couldn't place it, though; perhaps elven culinary arts were the one thing that had survived the ages? "Tastes a little strange, though."

Tabris shrugged, but seemed to be laughing at a private joke. "The first time is always a little weird. You'll get used to it soon enough. I'll make some more." There was a blur of movement and suddenly, there was a dagger stuck to the nearest tree, with an unfortunate rodent breathing its last.

Impressed but disturbed, Alistair tried his best not to cringe as the elf walked to her prey calmly, unstuck the dagger and proceeded to start chopping the creature with surgical precision. Not even the black leather she wore could distract from that sight.

"Wow… I mean… where did you learn to do… that?"

"Mom was a regular jack of all trades, I told you that." Chop chop chop, went the knife, the elf's hands working dispassionately at the dissection. "She taught me most of my useful skills. Fighting, hunting, poison brewing, picking locks, knitting, belly-dancing, juggling, yoga… the works." She shrugged. "I was the awe of the alienage, really."

Alistair blinked, now impressed. That was quite a list of skills. "How come you lived there if you can do all of that?"

"Dad thought I wouldn't stand a chance at snagging a husband if anyone knew about my skills. He thought we'd seem like troublemakers."

That was understandable, in a nice, caring way. "I guess I can see why; I imagine not too many people in the alienage could use a sword while sober."

"No, no, it's just that my bunny patterns were considered offensive." The elf snorted, apparently of a different opinion. "Some people are just so sensitive about their ears, I tell you. Everyone knew I was an ace with weapons and the like. 'Cept my fiancé, of course."

"Your- wait, fiancé?" Alistair felt his eyes bulging a little bit. Well, this could get awkward very quickly. Of course, she was beautiful and everything, but… this was a low blow from the spirits. "You were- you're _engaged_?"

The elf snorted softly, throwing her handiwork into the cauldron stewing over the fire and continuing with her preparations. "If the ceremony had lasted a few minutes longer, I'd probably be considered a widow. Some humans showed up and kidnapped me and a bunch of girls. You'd think an arl's son would have enough money to afford actual willing women."

"You… you can speak about that so casually? That sounds like a terrifying experience."

"Actually, I'm kind of embarrassed about it." The elf smiled sheepishly, but it lasted only a moment. "I got knocked out by an unarmed mook – not the best way to show off my training."

"A what?"

"Oh, that's elvish. Anyway, it wasn't my finest moment."

"But you got out, didn't you? I mean… they didn't…"

"I got out and Duncan conscripted me before the guards could take me away." And then, out of the blue, a vicious sneer crossed her face – a rather Loghain expression, Tabris would have said if she could see herself. Alistair, who didn't know the full extent of their situation, just thought she was rather scary when she did that. "It was so worth it to see those shems get their undies in a twist."

Clearly, they were venturing into dangerous waters here. "So you fought your way out of a cell while in a wedding dress and unarmed?" Alistair summarized, trying to get the discussion back on track. The stew was bubbling, but it wasn't anything soothing now.

"Unarmed? No, no! Not at all." The elf peered at him in a surprised manner. Considering the things they were talking about, Alistair thought it rather unfair. "My cousin busted in and passed me a sword. Not that it was necessary; I take these everywhere."

Digging into one of her armor's pouches, the Warden withdrew several small metal objects with sharp edges and lightning-shaped pointy ends. In short, each looked like a metal octopus.

Alistair was at a loss of words, really.

"Uh, they're pretty, but how did you save yourself with earrings?"

Finally, the elf didn't laugh, but glared. _No one _insulted her shuriken! "These aren't earrings. These are throwing stars! One swipe of this baby and any nuisance is one jugular short of a circulatory system!"

Right, _creepy_ was the word here. "I… see. Who gave you these things, though? Aren't alienages supposed to be very poor?" Those things looked well-polished and new. In fact, they looked more decorative than battle-effective to the templar. "This is pretty fancy…"

"Yeah, we pretty much had to live off rats and garbage dumps, but my mom was a pro burglar, spy and sometimes trapeze performer. She always got us the good stuff, so I'm prettier and cleaner than most of the elves back home. Also, she taught me her ninja arts."

"So you could help your family live better?"

"Hell no!" Tabris made a face. "So that I could get out of that dump! A one-person circus act isn't very easy to pull off, but once you get two people… well, it gains complexity. Better marketing, too." she added, fondly remembering the time when Shianni had clobbered Soris during their contest to create the best poster for this act.

Ah, good times.

"Wait, that doesn't explain why you became an adventurer."

"After mom kicked the bucket, she left behind all the fancy stuff. I thought I could start a sword-swallowing act, but I got better at actually fighting with swords than swallowing them… well, here I am. What else are you gonna use all that leather for?"

Alistair was quite certain his brain wasn't functioning anymore. Just when he was about to let out a nondescript noise to convey his utter confusion, there was a faint buzzing noise and the elf immediately sprung into action.

"Watch out! Hi-yah!"

With surprising dexterity, the elf rotated the stars around the forefingers of each hand, then tossed them in the direction of the misfortunate buzzer. When she retrieved them, Alistair was most definitely considering that this might not work out. But she was much too quick to allow for a discrete button press.

"What-what's going on?"

"It's a wasp!" Tabris announced victoriously. "It could have been connected to the darkspawn!"

"A wasp?" Alistair didn't know whether to laugh or back away slowly, but the manic gleam in the elf's eyes was rather alarming. "That's a little extreme… and you didn't have to slice it in half…"

"The plague could be carried in any number of ways." she insisted stubbornly, dumping the dead wasp into the stew.

Suddenly, things weren't looking so rosy any longer.

"But we could have treated that kind of bite with a simple poultice…"

Tabris shot him a flat look of disbelief. "You're very naïve, especially since everyone _is_ out to get us. Or have you forgotten?"

With that, she reached into another one of her pouches and pulled out two scraps of parchment for Alistair to read. They turned out to be posters; two horrible caricatures of the two of them that looked nothing like either of them, along with their names scrambled under the distinct non-likenesses and a reward for their capture – not much of a sum, but Alistair suspected that he only thought that way because it wasn't obvious whether it was gold or silver or copper.

Or, you know, lashings.

What interested him was that there was a name under her picture, followed by Tabris – so it was her surname. But It was… well..

"Kealamaolua?" Alistair asked slowly, the hint of a cringe on his face. His accent was horrid and he practically mutilated the name from top to bottom, but it was the same sequence of syllables as on the paper.

Even the elf was impressed. "Huh, they actually spelled my name right?" She checked it; it was true. "Well, darn!"

"How do you pronounce it? Does it mean something in elvish?"

"Not really; it's complicated, anyway. Mom wanted me to be Kallian, but Dad didn't think it sounded feminine… and the Revered Mother got a little impatient at the baptizing and let the rather boozed-up sister write down whatever she wanted. So here I am." A shrug – she herself couldn't pronounce the full name at the best of times. "Kea."

"Eh… right."

And then, as if he had mortally offended her, her green eyes narrowed icily. Fortunately, Kea was gazing into the distance. "Someone's coming." With a swish of fabric, she was gone quicker than the eye could see.

One out of six. Five others. Princess Stabbity brandished her daggers at whoever had the misfortune of intruding upon them, twirling it so quickly one might have mistaken it for a piece of cloth.

Alistair glanced at the bubbling pot of sickly green liquid, at the throwing stars still stuck to the tree and then at the ring on his finger.

Needless to say, by the time Tabris confronted the latest visit, the sun was shining, the stew was bubbling and Alistair was gone.

Not that the Warden noticed too much; given the fact that she was correct about the guests and found herself face to face with an armed escort trailing dutifully behind a very much cranky and perpetually frowning Loghain. How they had managed to find this camp, Tabris didn't know, nor did she care. She had her throwing stars, but it was difficult to aim only for the jugular. Besides, she was a bit curious as to this development, even though she used her best sneer instead of a greeting.

"You have a lot of nerve to show your face here."

Were the guards of weaker constitution, they would have probably fainted at the sight of the slight elf addressing their general as such. However, Loghain was a difficult kind of evil overlord to work for; you never knew when he was being evil or pragmatic, or overlordly or just trying to keep things together.

Alternate character interpretation wasn't part of the So You Want To Be A Mook handbook they had studied from.

For such a favorable situation, the regent was surprisingly passive in expression, as if he still had to keep his true thoughts in check in front of a foolish young king. "I would hardly be a proper welcome for the Grey Wardens if they were ignored." Only his voice was laced with refined sarcasm.

Tabris swallowed, but tried not to look intimidated in any way; she had faced down situations as bad as this before. It probably hadn't been the brightest idea to practically broadcast their presence in Denerim by doing every damned sidequest in the city, come to think of it. Hindsight was mean like that.

"Welcome accomplished. Now leave before words turn to blows."

"You would disregard the perfect chance to end things on a whim?"

"Despite what you may think, Grey Wardens aren't assassins." _She_ was, but this was beside the point.

Finally, there was the sneer; before an actual motive could be established, the arbitrary blows had to be gone through. "Your reputation wouldn't gain much by breaking diplomatic immunity in such a crass manner, certainly."

"Don't tell me you came to talk me into submission, that's just lame."

"Much as I'd like to be personally present for every action that goes on in this country, I do have other responsibilities besides trying to fill tasks delegated to others." The guards behind Loghain squirmed somewhat, knowing who that particular _you have failed me, imbeciles_ tone was meant for.

Seriously, though, Loghain had been quite surprised when he had learned of the Wardens' presence in Denerim from a very peculiar court case where a boy had claimed that a mabari was his legal guardian and not his parents.

Life was cruel that way.

Tabris was unimpressed. "I'm highly flattered that you found the time in your _busy schedule_ to visit." The Warden was subtle in many ways, but that didn't include conversation. "I'm not going to believe anything you say, so save us both some time and go back to your skulking."

The glance Loghain spared the daggers that littered the ground and trees everywhere said it all. "You would have me show my back to a dagger-wielding enemy?"

And that was it; Tabris practically jumped into action once more.

"Ah-_ha_! You thought you were too smart, but I see what you're up to now!" Loghain's eyebrows rose a perfectly practiced fraction of an inch, but he let the Warden rave on. "You _expected_ me to do this so that I get irritated, attack first and then make it seem as though your lies were right – and brought witnesses for that purpose! But I anticipated that!"

Kea then went on a very long tirade about the possible convulsions of this dastardly – but well planned out – scheme. Needless to say, it was supposed to involve a faked murder with ketchup, stage knives, several disguises and cunning political maneuvers and bubble wrap.

Don't ask.

The regent listened to all this without interruption, though no one watching could discern what he was actually thinking. Finally, the elf was out of breath, almost foaming at the mouth in her righteous anger, eyes glittering feverishly. Now was the time for maniacal laughter and admissions. However, they were both to be surprised.

"I've… never met someone as paranoid as I am." Loghain actually appeared a little dazed; the admission didn't come easily.

But it was true and Kea realized it with no small degree of internal confusion.

"Me neither." She noted and tried her best not to look ignorant or break down. Which, of course, was best done by leveling the playing field. "It's… very strangely attractive." Peculiarly, thoughts about this being a potential conspiracy weren't the first thing on her mind.

Even when her long-time enemy took a step closer, she didn't yet whip out her throwing stars. Then again, if he were to reach for the very visible sword at his hip, she was still ready. Though it would be a shame after such a moment of kinship.

"I suggest a compromise." Loghain noted after several long moments of observing her in a manner that was more conflicted than stern. "We call off the civil war and merge forces against the darkspawn."

Kea blinked, stunned. She had expected quite a few things, but certainly not diplomacy. If that was it, that is. "So you'll make a formal apology for suggesting something so irrational like the Grey Wardens aiding darkspawn?"

"Wasn't it the Orlesians?"

The Warden waved her hand dismissively. "Darkspawn, Orlesians; same difference."

And that broke any semblance of stern hesitation, because it was quite clear that they were indeed of the same mindset.

"Marry me." Loghain made it sound like a demand for surrender by an overzealous watch officer to a petty, easily intimidated criminal, but there was a different kind of fire in his eyes. "All other details can be worked out later."

Kea blinked owlishly, trying to decide whether she should start laughing or get out her weapon. But she couldn't see any sign of an ambush or a joke – either of which would have been rather out of place.

"You're serious. No hidden angle?"

She was awarded with a sardonic half-sneer, which was a high sign of trust from Loghain, who preferred finer levels of sarcasm to open mocking. "I might have to think of one, should you refuse. That would just be embarrassing."

Kea said nothing for a few moments, but, in a motion quick enough to make even her mother proud, virtually jumped her former adversary, wrapping her legs around him dexterously. It would have been a one-hit-kill attack, had such an intention been behind it, but the accompanying soldiers managed to stay their weapons long enough to see that if the Warden was trying to smother the regent, she was employing the most enthusiastic and almost indecent method. If there was anything more peculiar than seeing the number one enemy of the state passionately smooching the stern war hero, then it had to be seeing the teyrn hastily repositioning his hands under her behind to keep her in place and respond as eagerly as someone of his levels of stoicism and constipation could.

A few of them were most certain that they needed to see a healer, because they had obviously lost any touch with reality. Some actually agreed to have a drink with Oghren, which showed exactly how desperate they were to regain any semblance of sense.

In the meantime, sheer lack of oxygen forced the elf to unglue her lips from her surprising partner's. Of course, the rest of her refused to move an inch, since there was no life-threatening reason to do so. Somehow, she found a way to ignore even the discomfort the armor had to be causing her.

Considering how both of them were sure they had gone a little insane to even suggest this and, enjoying it was the last thing to worry about. After all, the whole world had obviously gone mad, so they might as well be happy with the ride.

"Enjoyable as that was, I have yet to receive an answer." Maker bless whoever had invented armor, though, because the Warden could _squirm_ when she wanted to.

"Yes…" the elf rasped out breathily. She wanted to laugh at the unlikeliness and convenience of it, but couldn't, with so much _heat_ directed her way in an uwavering look. "Yes…"

For almost everyone else, having the most desired person in Thedas in their arms like this would have been the final push over the edge; Loghain appeared quite unfazed now that his bargaining position was much stronger.

"Yes, you understand or yes, you accept?"

The ninja Warden laughed heartily, feeling quite light-headed. And her father had thought some pretty boy smith was a prize groom for her. Oh, this would be _such_ an enjoyable life.

"_Or_ has no place in that question. It's yes and yes."

As someone trained to notice details, Kea knew that the lessening of Loghain's frown was much more profoundly significant than most would have suspected. The possessive kisses and slight tightening of the grip on her helped, too.

The world was officially insane and neither of them was about to waste time looking around for flying nugs.

"I think we should just have been this straightforward from the start." the regent murmured against her lips before taking possession of them without further delay.

If Alistair were there and knew the whole context of this event, he would have likely had a heart attack on the spot.

Unfortunately, that was not necessarily an improvement on his present situation….


	2. The Unholy Fail

I fully confess to choosing Surana's name so that I could make that joke. Amell has the shortest name in the fic, but only because it fit her joke. Cookies to whoever figures it out!

**o.O.o**

**The Unholy Fail**

**o.O.o**

The first thing Alistair noticed was the cold.

He was inside a building now, nowhere near the soothing fire, with looming walls and tall windows. It sort of reminded him of the monastery, but this place radiated the deliberate air of a dungeon, not the kind of cage the templar quarters – Spartan, but livable – had been.

He remembered pictures of this kind of place, but thought he'd never see the inside after his conscription. There was a bookcase nearby, so he went to check if his hunch was right.

_Why Is It Always Toads? An Idiot's_ _Guide to Magic_. Yep, he was right.

Alistair had actually been inside only once, for that one terrible Harrowing, but he remembered the distinct architecture of the Tower of Magi. Dark, cold stone, curves instead of angles, windows challenging that of a cathedral… funny how a place that was intended as (let us be honest) a prison for extraordinarily empowered people the Chantry abhorred was architecturally stunning. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that the mages didn't choose to be what they were; the templars were the ones who had willingly (for the most part) confined themselves to the spartan quarters reserved for them in the monasteries.

Or perhaps the interior decorator understood that mages liked to dress… vividly… and wanted to make it seem that such color choices were normal, rational and sane.

There was noise from the large central chamber, though; he seemed to be in one of the corridors; a section of the library, perhaps? In any case, where there were people, there had to be the exit, and maybe another of these potential Wardens he was supposed to meet.

The room was large, circular and mostly empty, aside from glowing, fiery lava-coated _things_ that he had only seen on pictures – _oh, look, demons, wonderful_ – then some templars who moved a little too stiffly to be in full possession of their senses and the solitary figure of a young woman facing them, her hands glowing with magic.

Which she used to blast the nearest demon's head off.

It was the elf from the portrait; what he had (very stupidly, in retrospect) mistaken for a high-necked dress were the robes of a mage. However, this oversight could be justified by the fact that Alistair had mostly encountered apprentice mages (blue robes) and Senior Enchanters (red robes). He honestly couldn't for the life of him remember what yellow robes meant, other than maybe victory in the Most Obvious Mage contest. Also, elves apparently wore a different variant.

Normally, mages tried to look regal and stiff-lipped, from what Alistair knew, or went for the full-out insane look. Thus it was downright peculiar to see one of them grin with truly vicious satisfaction as the now-directionless puppets charged at her in blind rage, weapons raised high.

Now, if Alistair were to ever do something like that in a training exercise, the instructor would have whacked him on the head with the flat of her sword. The first rule of successfully subduing (read: slaying) a mage was to negate their powers. Luckily, demon possession and then the loss of its (his? her?) instruction apparently negated all training and common sense.

It wasn't a surprise that the mage's hands began glowing brightly, but Alistair honestly couldn't remember seeing that much non-figurative fire at once. Not even when he had accidentally set the soup on fire at the abbey – it was a long story, not terribly relevant to the situation.

In any case, the elf literally tossed her spells as if she were hurling things at the templars, using a simple but effective strategy. She aimed at the knees, the opening in their helmets – if they were wearing one – and the joints of their armor. Aside from that, she tried an additional move after a few strikes and – Alistair winced a little at this – aimed directly below the belt and grinned rather nastily when it had some effect.

However, when she managed to literally blow one of the possessed templar´s head off, the mage finally cracked and let out a truly stage-worthy cackling laugh; the kind that old grandmothers probably used to scare children by tales of the Witch of the Wilds. In short, not a sound anyone in full possession of their sanity or natural social inhibitions would ever be caught dead using.

Then again, mages…

"Mwahahahahaha! Eat moar dakka, Gondor army rejects!"

The elf had a low-pitched, smoky voice, but now it was positively bubbling with glee. She wasn't even using a mage staff, for Maker´s sake – when one templar got too close despite having his sword arm nearly blown off, her hand instinctively curled into a fist and aimed for the unfortunate bastard´s eye. The physical force behind the blow might not have been much, but the lightning bolts cracking around her knuckles…

Ow.

Every time an armed templar collapsed, their armor made a clunking sound that seemed to very much satisfy the elf.

Finally, there were no more enemies left to fight, and the mage stilled her movements. There was just the hint of a disappointed pout on her face, even as her ears quivered just a little, as if she had heard something.

Of course, Alistair realized too late that what she was hearing was the quivering of a vase he managed to nudge in his desire to get away from the many, many corpses.

In a whirl of magic, the vase _exploded_ before it could hit the ground. In a fit of good sense, Alistair quickly ducked back under the table and raised his hands.

"No no, wait, I'm on your side!"

The elf's manic expression actually hardened when she frowned, but at least it was an expression of sanity. "Hmm… you aren't wearing that stupid potty-shaped helmet… but you smell like a bucket-head." she pronounced sagely, her face still distrustful.

"But- hey wait; how can you smell that?" That was a badly worded question, but completely justified. Still, Alistair climbed out from under to table, thanking the Maker for his splintmail. Was that a mage thing? "Templars have a smell?"

"More like a stench." the elf admitted, and Alistair was most glad to see that her favored casting hand was now down. "Kind of like fake flower soap mixed with really bad cologne. My class has a theory that it's a cover-up for the lubricant we found in one of their rooms." Luckily, she was too busy wrinkling her nose to notice the depth of Alistair's blush. Or perhaps she just didn't understand the implication… but that was impossible. "Personally, I think they´re just sissies that way."

"I… really didn't need to know those things." Alistair said at last, as diplomatically as possible. It was a little easier when he saw the mage's hands drop. "But you could be a little friendlier; I did save your life a minute ago."

"I've been trapped in this tower with a bunch of skirt-wearing humans and sexually frustrated apprentices for most of my life." The oddly adorable pout she had been sporting for a few odd seconds was cancelled out when the elf rolled her eyes in a highly exaggerated manner. Of course, she was obviously biting down the desire to berate him about taking down one of her possible targets. "What, you expected me to start cheering for you or something? Grow up!"

"But what happened here?"

"You mean you didn't come to the wonderful demon-infested Kinoch Hold willingly? I'm shocked, I really am." The mage's eyes snapped up at the slightest noise; before Alistair could count the number of lava-like rage demons slithering their way, something cold and wet tickled his scalp. Once he saw the chunks of ice flying towards the half-melted abominations, he had the good sense to duck. The elf, for her part, seemed to be having the time of her life. "EAT MAGE BULLETS, SUCKERS!"

Well, at least someone was finding this enjoyable. The demons certainly weren't, considering that even their lava-slime froze and the mage had enough time to almost bounce towards the nearest wall and get an actual weapon fit against enemies of this caliber.

Alistair was actually somewhat stunned that all one needed to permanently defeat a rage demon was setting off a fire alarm.

Well, a sequence of spells designed to react to an emergency, anyway. That left only a few of those who were impervious to such mundane means of getting them out of the way and the elf very enthusiastically fireballed them back where they came from. And then, she just dusted off her hands, as if she had taken out the trash or something.

"Wow." Alistair blinked. Craziness aside, this was definitely Grey Warden material. "I mean, you're highly cacophonic, but _damn_."

The elf grinned; apparently, this was the right thing to say. "I guess you're not one of them."

"Who- oh, templars." She certainly had a penchant for changing her mind. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well, most of those I know would be crying for their mommies too much to notice they wet their lovely skirts. You're still…" The mage's lips mischievously twitched. "Solid."

And when she didn't look like a raving spell-happy lunatic, she was certainly pretty. It was a step-up from the paranoid Princess Stabbity.

This time prepared to make an effort at a good impression, Alistair didn't even have to force his smile. "I'll take that as the highest of compliments from you, my lady."

The mage rolled her eyes at the form of address, but didn't turn violent once more. "I swear you humans are like dogs. You get one scrap of kindness and latch onto me like a leech. So who are you, anyway?" she asked, genuinely curious as they both stepped over some of the corpses littered around to try and have a proper conversation without shouting from across the room. "If you're not a templar and not here by choice…"

"Oh, right, apologies. I'm Alistair, a Grey Warden."

At this, the elf let out a most unladylike chortle. "Yeah, right."

"In all seriousness."

"Really?" Up went the golden eyebrows as the mage folded her arms. "Prove it."

Alistair blinked blankly; due to travelling with Duncan, no one had ever doubted his Wardenhood, nor asked him to prove it. Part of him supposed the elf had a point, but… "Prove it? How?"

"I don't know! Aren't Grey Wardens supposed to have some special abilities distinguishing them from other random warriors?"

"Well… other than being immune to the Taint and sensing darkspawn…" Truth to be told, he had been much too excited by the thought of finally leaving the dingy cloister to actually listen to Duncan's talk about responsibilities and possible advantages in battle. "I don't really think so…?"

"That's a pathetic excuse." the mage proclaimed, evidently unimpressed. "You don't even look like a Grey Warden!"

Alistair actually wondered what her image of a Grey Warden was, but didn't try to ask that yet. "You don't look like a mage and I don't doubt you being one."

It was supposed to be a compliment, given the rather horrid images of mages he had been shown during templar training and the wizened old men present during that one Harrowing, but the way the fireball was rotating above the mage's hand suggested she didn't quite share this opinion.

"How 'bout now?"

"I believe you, I do." Alistair said hastily, not trusting the way she happily watched the swirling of the flames. This was a whole new brand of crazy. "Take it easy… what's your name?

The elf blinked, and the fireball extinguished spontaneously. "Some call me… Kim?" She sounded rather uncertain about that.

"Kim? That doesn't sound like an overly elvish name to me." Compared to the previous one, though, he was more than willing to get something so easily pronounced.

The mage scoffed. "Try saying Bankimchandra five times fast and see how you like it, wise guy! Eyes up!" she yelped suddenly, recreating the fireball and tossing it at the nearest demon appearing from the ground.

Why couldn't flowers grow from the ground in the mage tower, like in normal places, Alistair thought as the two of them both ducked behind the nearest toppled furniture. _Damn_ were those arcane horrors ugly, with their spider-like fingers.

"How did this happen?!" he shouted over the whirlpool of roars and the mage throwing any spell at her disposal over their improvised barricade. "Is this a regular occurrence?!"

"Damned if I know; I was about to go see my friend and blow this popsicle stand-" Here the mage tossed him a worried glance and quickly amended the last bit. "Eh, help him with his girl problems-"

Alistair excelled at pretending to be an idiot, but also at picking the completely wrong moment to start debating serious issues. "You wanted to break out of the tower?!"

"Of course not!" the mage countered, raining fire and ice upon the demons. The table was hit with the impact of a spell, but didn't crack yet. A statue toppled nearby, crushing a smaller demon, but they both still had their hands full. "Burn down the doors was more like it! Anyway, it just started up like this, random demons popping up! It doesn't even make sense! But I don't really care – I get to blow stuff up!"

"Where are the other mages?"

"Scattered around, I guess!"

Almost right on cue, another mage stumbled through the door the demons had foolishly left open, looking rather dazed by this sudden development. For a moment, she looked rather as if she had accidentally stumbled into the wrong bathroom, then gave a helpless giggle and ducked behind a toppled statue of Andraste when the nearest demon let out a decidedly un-welcoming roar.

Of course, that might have been because the elven mage at Alistair's side wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome wagon herself and used the momentary pause in combat to blast it to smithereens.

The human finally recognized the furious casting frenzy and even risked one of her pigtails to send her comrade a message.

"Oi, Kimmie, help a tad, will you?!"

The elf blasted the remaining demons with newfound vigour; Alistair was actually beginning to feel somewhat redundant. He couldn't use his magic-neutralizing talents, since the elf was obviously less than pleased with templars, and none of the demons got in close enough for his sword to cut them down. Moreover, getting between the elf and her target seemed unwisely suicidal.

Wiping her forehead, the other woman flounced toward them, short hair happily bouncing. She was doll-like, almost, even a little ditzy, and Alistair had the distinct impression that he had seen that brown hair somewhere before.

"Damn it, Bel!" Kim blew off the smoke rising from her fingers, sending the human a put upon look. "Klutzy as ever!"

The human shrugged this off, practically skipping over the various bodies, as if she were prancing in a meadow. No dead demons and possessed templars here, oh no; just flowers and kittens and ooh, shiny!

"Thanks for that!" she chirped, but then directed her almost protuberant eyes towards Alistair. "Ooh, who's the hot templar?" The question was much too eager, and how the hell did every mage seem to know that anyway? "I'd definitely remember another one who forgets his helmet…"

"I'm not actually a templar, not really." Alistair protested when the cooing mage circled him, a very discomforting look on her face. It was rather as if she were looking at a rare and expensive toy, really.

"Bollocks! You have the look down – innocent to mildly crazy, sexually frustrated pretty boy. I know the type precisely!"

"Pretty boy?" Was that a compliment or an insult? The way Kim was rolling her eyes in the background, it was impossible to tell.

"Oh yeah!" Bel nodded eagerly, fanning herself with her hand. "There's something about a celibate guy in a magenta skirt and a cuirass with a phallic symbol on it that that's completely my type. And the blond hair… yep, definitely." There, out of the blue, she jumped him, giving Alistair only a moment or two to catch her. "It's like we're meant to be!"

In the background, Kim just rolled her eyes in a distinctively unhelpful fashion. "Just ignore her; she does this to every vaguely attractive templar she encounters. Well, mostly it's Cullen, but I condone that." she amended.

"How can you condone such a thing?!" Meanwhile, Bel was being far too enthusiastic about trying to claw her way past the armor M-my lady, please, I don't really think-"

"Oooh, call me that again!"

"It keeps a stalker busy if _their_ stalker is crazier!" Kim noted matter-of-factly, but then ignored the progressing molestation, because a new surge of demons caught her attention. "Oh no you don't, sparky! YOUR BACKSIDE-EQUIVALENT IS MINE!"

"Do those things even have a backside?" Alistair asked, still trying to disentangle himself from the touchy-feely mage who was cooing over him and holding on tighter than a straightjacket. "I mean, they just sort of crawl or glide or whatever."

"I don't think any of us wants to go into that too deeply."

Bel only shrugged before resuming her ministrations. "Oh, well, anyway… my wuv!"

Needless to say, it was downright disturbing how easily she knew where exactly to pull or wheedle to make pieces of armor give. She managed to get through the first tier of resistance, causing the Warden to yelp, blush and accidentally shrug her off. Notably, the mage didn't look too disturbed or upset by these rough movements, but pouted a little.

"Aargh! Look, I'm sorry, but I-I don't really know you well enough to do this kind of thing, what I mean to say is-"

Kim, already weary of this melodrama, took pity on him, though just this once. "Go back to keeping the stalker at bay, Bels, m'kay?"

"Noooooo!" Bel wailed dramatically, as if this was the epitome of heresy. "He isn't a stalker! He's just sooo in luv with me that he can't bear to be parted from me! Anyway, he's hot, so who cares?" she added, matter-of-factly, shrugging easily.

Alistair was sort of beginning to understand the situation, but still decided to ask the saner of the pair (for the moment) to clarify. "A templar is stalking her?"

"If you want to be technical about it, she's stalking him." Kim mused, twirling a strand of hair absent-mindedly. "She just assumed that he was stalking her when he actually tried to make a move on me."

"Wait, he's stalking _you_? Why don't you report it to the Knight Commander or First Enchanter?"

"It's Jowan's fault." the elf muttered, crossing her arms grumpily. "Stupid guy was too chicken to come up with a good retort when I told him his girlfriend looks like she's got a pretzel on her head and he… eh… made it seem that I'm interested in Cullen."

Assuming that was the templar, Alistair was rather confused. No templar would trust the word of a mage on such things; moreover, most of the templars he knew would rather jump off the top of the tower and land on their own swords than admit an infatuation with a mage – or believe that one of them was honestly taken with them.

"How can you do such a thing? I mean, I don't think a second-hand word would be enough…"

"Oh, no, definitely not!" Bel chimed in helpfully, finally sniggering and getting out of her princess façade. "He wrote a very expressive letter and poured about half a bottle of perfume on it."

"That's not too convincing." After all, anyone could fake that. Though Alistair did wonder how one could get perfume in a mage tower.

"The smallclothes he stole and sent with it might have made an impression, though." Kim looked like she was about to pop a vein as she forced the words through her gritted teeth. Her best lingerie… and desecrated thusly. "That's when Cullen started stuttering whenever he saw me."

"I'm asking again; why didn't you report it?"

The elf snorted. "Don't you think Irving and Greagoir know? They're having a hell of a time with this! Like it's some twisted joke!"

"It's kind of funny." Bel noted honestly.

"It's stalking!" Kim pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling that age-old aneurysm coming in to say hello once again. "It's that stupid book she got for her last birthday that did this to her." she muttered, glaring at the other woman.

"Did not! It's romantic that he'd want to stare at you for hours in the library!"

"This is what happens when you order stuff from Ye Olde Crossovere Shoppe."

"Shut it!" Bel flushed, entirely ready to defend her fandom to the core. "Les Miserables is a great book! Besides, it did make me less miserable in his tower, so I got my money's worth! And now I have a new true love!" This point was punctuated with the mage once again dexterously trapping Alistair in her embrace. Momentary confusion crossed her face, though. "Eh, what's your name, darling?"

"Oh, look, it's Cullen." Kim noted, looking towards the door.

The reaction was instant and would have been that way even if she had been bluffing; Bel immediately let go and raced towards the door, practically crashing into a young templar who froze when he spotted the elf in the room and thus didn't notice the impact.

"Dearie!"

Alistair stretched a little, relieved by this shift. "Thank you, I-"

"Eyes front, skirt-boy!" Kim yelled, spotting another wave of demons. Her features twisted back into psycho elf mode. "Kill it with fire! Mwahahaha!"

No, this definitely wasn't his day, Alistair concluded as there was enforced snuggling in one corner and fire and death in the other. Things didn't quiet down even with the end of the demons, because a band of templars and mages stormed into the room – finally, what took them so long? – and their apparent leader immediately identified the troublemakers.

"Surana! I should have known." Grey eyes narrowed at the elf, then moved on to the human, ignoring her assault on one of his templars. "And Amell, of course."

"Aww, Greggy, I told you so many times, those helmets are just wrong for them!" Bel cooed, already flouncing from one templar to another.

Green robes usually signified the First Enchanter, if Alistair remembered correctly, so it was no surprise that it was, indeed, a wizened old man that approached Kim. "Is this your doing, apprentice?"

Well, if she had the power to summon so many demons and slay them, then Maker help them all.

"No, sir, I just cleaned up the mess while _someone_ was too busy for templar time." Kim noted, not so subtly glaring at the various templars, but mostly at the Knight Commander. "Has anyone seen Jowan, by the way?"

Right on cue, a dark-haired mage was dragged in by two helmed templars and almost tossed into the middle of their little circle. "Here's the culprit, Knight-Commander."

"Hey, let's not get worked up about it!" Jowan protested, sulking a little. He didn't mean to summon these demons; he was just having a nice nap and then… well, apparently, demons came in all shapes and forms. Even offered chocolate. "I mean, how was I supposed to know that they can get here if you as much as take a cookie in the Fade! That's just harsh!"

"Pretzel time again?" Kim sniggered, waggling her eyebrows.

Jowan flushed, but whined nonetheless. "Kiiiim, I so don't need that right now!"

But his retribution was to come swiftly, Jowan saw with a wicked grin, because no sooner than Kim tried to speak again, Cullen had materialized at her side, blushing and sweating profoundly, but apparently intent on at least speaking with her.

"M-miss S-surana." Always the same start. Alistair, forgotten in the background, could actually sympathize. The guy had it bad. "You're all r-right…I mean I-I knew you'd be, but y-you were…"

"Hot?" Jowan and Bel suggested at the same time, taking pleasure in tormenting their friend.

Cullen had been about to say something complimentary, but beaten to the punch like this, he could only do something less gentlemanly and neutral. "Your f-fire balls have gotten bigger." The elf blinked, digesting the accidental innuendo while Bel and Jowan chortled in the background. Once the templar realized it, he flushed further. "Ah, I mean…"

Fortunately, as always, Greagoir was there to keep order, even if a well-placed kick in the shin was necessary to do it.

"Blasphemous sexual tension! Back to your self-flagellation, infidel!"

Kim used the temporary templar rituals to sneak away to where Bel was – the human sighed. "Maker, Kimmie, a pity one-nighter wouldn't kill you!" Then, she grinned wickedly. "Or are you too _hot_ for him?"

"Belva Amell, you're a sick, sick person."

"Yep! And the only cure is some templar lurve!"

The scene of one templar punishing another with the torturous device of a plate and a fork screeching against it, one mage jumping templar after templar, another muttering about his precious pretzel and the third sharing a mutual facepalm with the First Enchanter was enough to convince Alistair that he had been right about mages making him nervous.

But before he could reach for his ring, Kim grabbed him and dragged him down under the nearest table.

"LOOK OUT!"

Alistair dutifully ducked, ready for the demons this time, but all he could see beyond the table was… a white nug. Yet everyone seemed to be in hysterics, interrupting their actions to duck and hide screaming.

"What, why? It's just a little white nug… ugly, though." he added, but then again, all nugs were ugly.

Kim gasped and whacked him over the head. "You imbecile, don't say that! That's the dreaded Killer Nug of Calenhad! Don't tell me you've never heard of it!"

"It's just a nug."

"Right." Bel muttered, ducking behind him for safety. "And Kim is just fond of fire spells."

The elf wasn't listening; after she overcame the initial fear, she rose up to the challenge of facing down the nug. In fact, it was indeed an epic battle.

"Burn the abomination! It cannot stand against the FIRES OF ALL INFERNO!"

The epic battle of elf vs. nug with cheering all around was just something Alistair couldn't bear watch any longer. Bel blinked once, twice, and found that she was only clinging to air. She would have pointed out this sudden absence of the hut templar snugglebear, but her attention span was much too short. Especially since demons were around and, more importantly, sweaty, young, armored templars…

Cullen was closest, watching the insane laughter of his elven ladylove with a thoroughly besotted expression.

"She's so beautiful…"

"Yeah, and if you returned her underwear and quit following her 'round the tower, she might actually give you the time of day!" Jowan muttered, almost causing the templar to burst into tears.

Bel seized her opportunity at once. "Ooooh, Cullie needs a hug!" And a glomp. Definitely that. "Don't worry my cuddlemuffin, I can get some fake pointy ears for special nights together…"

"Hey, watch it, Kim!" Jowan shouted when a fire spell almost singed his hair. The Killer Nug noticed him and latched onto his robe, sending him on a wild run across the room. "I'm on your side!"

"Oh, shut it, pretzel boy! You need to man up and the only prescription for that is more dakka!"

In the background, Irving wiped a tickle of sweat off his temple. Maybe it was time to reconsider that job offer from Hogwarts.


	3. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

I have absolutely no excuse for this chapter… I love it! I have nothing against Queen Cousland fics, but it gets very, very tedious after a while. I guess that's partly the reason why I'm a Team Zev girl – much more room for innovative ideas, less repetitiveness. Also, I found that it was very difficult to make fun of Bann Teagan – I guess I love him too much. Or he's simply that perfect, I don't know.

Anyway, I have a general idea what order the origins are going to go in – the ones I feel like writing go first. But if anyone wants to see a particular origin go next, feel free to let me know. The next one is likely going to be one of the dwarves. Originally, the ending was supposed to be a bit longer, but that lessened the punchline, so it was cut.

By the way, no one spotted the Monthy Python and the Holy Grail jokes in the last chapter, which makes me a sad panda. I only chose the name Kim to make the Some Call Me Tim joke... and, of course, Bel was supposed to make it seem like it was going to be a Twilight reference. Les Mis has the whole Marius stalks Cosette thing. Apparently, two hundred years ago, that was the proper way to woo someone.

**o.O.o**

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

**o.O.o**

The third place he got teleported to was kind of a mix between the two previous; there were the majestic windows of the mage tower, but also the distinct lack of prison-esque atmosphere. That was always a plus; it made get-togethers rather bad from the start. Kind of like when you suddenly realized that one of the people on the snack party guestlist was a darkspawn.

It seemed to be day, as well, which was always a plus, though some of the light in his face was reflected off the… extremely shiny armor he was wearing?

Someone accidentally poked him in the neck with a piece of the cuirass and Alistair yelped both in surprise and the slightest pain. For something so shiny, the star-shaped motives on it were rather pointy.

Wait a minute…

"Alistair, stop fidgeting."

Now that, at long last, was a voice he recognized. Aside from the poke-and-prod person who really wasn't good at their job (as far as Alistair can tell), the richly furnished room they were in had another temporary resident. Alistair hadn't seen Bann Teagan for quite a while, but there was no mistaking his kind eyes, tired voice and quietly exasperated "aneurysm incoming" expression.

And his rather flashy hairstyle, of course. What was it with nobles and braids, anyway?

The prodding continued, though, which meant that most of Alistair's words were punctuated with ows and gasps.

"B- ow! This armor is itchy! And way too shiny, you know?" Come to think of it, he really remembered this from somewhere. It certainly wasn't his splintmail – any why in the Dark City was _someone else_ putting it on him? "How are you supposed to move in this, let alone fight?"

"I doubt too much fighting will be required of Ferelden's king."

"Well I still-" It took just that long for Alistair's ears to successfully pass on the message to his brain, then have the latter inform his voice that now might be the time to properly freak out. "WHAT? _King?_"

Bann Teagan only smiled slightly in that diplomatic manner used by schoolteachers close to cracking and maniacs counting the number of ways they can rip your head off without the use of their hands. "Well, I suppose you could choose to be crowned queen, but that would cause quite a stir among the nobility… moreover, it would likely alienate your fiancée."

Wait, wait, wait. King?

King?!

_Fiancée?_

And why did they have another copy of that horrible armor lying around, anyway?!

Alistair felt momentarily light-headed, but the damned armor was so stiff that he couldn't even slouch properly._ "_I-I think I may need to lie down. This is a dream, right, just a dream?"

He certainly hoped it was, because there was no way any of this could be happening, unless… unless Cailan and likely a good chunk of the nobility was dead and the rest resenting him. Alistair felt rather like at the templar sparring team selection once again; always the last to be picked and always the one people stared at. It just came naturally, really.

"For many, it would be." Teagan noted with irritating calm. Apparently, he had given this pep talk several times already and was now just reciting his practiced lines. "You'll do fine, Alistair."

He sounded kind of like a healer ready to amputate one's arm without an adequate dose of sedatives. Needless to say, it wasn't entirely comforting.

"Who suggested this again?"Alistair was still rather dazed. In the previous encounters, he had been himself, at the very least, even if his possible co-Wardens had been… bizarre. But here, there didn't seem to be much Wardening to do.

Come to think of it, he was a Warden and a bastard – how come he was being made king?

"The marriage or your coronation?"

"Both?"

"Your fiancée and fellow Warden, in both cases." At least Teagan seemed relatively normal, if tired. The prodding person turned out to be an elven servant who was indeed fastening the armor with the moves fit for an assassin rather than a chamberlain or whatever function he had. "If you're getting cold feet now, I suggest taking it up with her... but I doubt she'll be pleased once she hears about it."

Considering that this was a place designed for him to meet this fiancée of his – and therefore a dream, it had to be a dream, unreal, unreal, fiction, Alistair chanted in his head – he doubted he could avoid it, even if he wanted to.

Alistair felt the cold gauntlets on his hand, though, and remembered the ring; it wasn't there. For a brief moment, he felt as if the archdemon had showed up with a very ugly set of china as a wedding gift and he had to refuse it in a most polite manner. Fortunately, this usually involved looking down at his feet for a moment, meaning that he noticed the golden chain around his neck (almost invisible atop the golden armor) and the ring it held.

Who made gold armor, anyway? Gold was way too soft to make an effectively protective shield. Moreover, bronze was too archaic… so was it plating only?

"I'll worry about that part –OW, Maker's breath, is this armor or a corset?!" No, it was definitely something else, although Alistair was glad for the small mercy of not being saddled with the same atrocious overgrown paper knife Cailan had carried. Again, it just seemed too big to be effective, but whatever one liked, he supposed. First things first, though. "Where is she?"

"She and Teyrn Cousland should be in the guest quarters somewhere."

"Right!" With impeccable timing, the elf managed to finish and jump away from the rather imbalanced king before anything could be done to his precise handiwork. Alistair felt like a doll, but tried to remember the name Cousland. It sounded somewhat familiar. "Ah… where would those be?"

"Two corridors to the left." Why Teagan wasn't surprised that the king didn't know his own palace wasn't really a concern, but Alistair really wondered how he could manage to look somewhat wistful. "I envy you, really."

The Bann Teagan Alistair remembered rejected almost every woman who hurled herself at him (politely) and preferred his celebrity lifestyle over the constraints of keeping up a stiff-lipped public image. However, if he was able to pull off the braid…

"Well, this armor might look better on you, so we might yet switch…"

"Not that, no, but your fiancée." Teagan corrected, which was somewhat calming; that meant she was likely going to be a bit saner than the rest of them. "She is a most remarkable woman."

"Remarkable as in she can knit sweaters for qunari or remarkable as in her glare makes cheese go sour?" But Alistair was almost out of the door by then, not really listening. The king business had shook him up somewhat, so it was time to find the woman who had had the bright idea of making him one.

Since Alistair was being so impolite with the whole waiting for an answer business, Teagan counted to ten, took deep breaths and, just in case, took another one of his tranquility pills (the seventh that day; no wonder he was calmer than a cardboard box.

"I would have gone for the loots corpses for shiny objects angle myself." The elven servant suggested as he put away the tools for shining the armor.

Scowling, Teagan took another of those pills. This was going to be a long day and he had only one bottle.

**o.O.o**

Alistair managed to get lost only once, to his credit.

This was why he actually preferred to let others lead; his sense of direction was abysmal. Also, there was no one to ask for directions, not that he was desperate enough to do that… yet. Fortunately, there was a completely different means of determining where the future queen might be – a very vocal argument, coming from the general direction of where Teagan had said.

At this point, Alistair could admit to curiosity. If he was to be – _gulp _– king and marry this woman, she had to be human; it was impossible for the nobility to accept anything else, he knew. And, of course, she had to be of noble lineage – one bastard on the throne might have been way too much to swallow for some anyway, let alone two pseudo-commoners. There was also logic to it; if a high-ranking noble was willing to marry him, no doubt that strengthened his claim on the throne.

Just because he wasn't a scholar didn't mean he was the dullest crayon in the box. And, anyway, there were far too many ways one could eavesdrop on Arl Eamon when small enough, especially when he tended to mutter about things like _excellent pawn_ and _move for the future_ and _why couldn't Anora be an airhead like Cailan, now I'm stuck without a means of supplanting them_ when he thought he was alone.

Alistair wasn't entirely certain what that meant, but he managed to recognize the Arl's voice quite easily from a distance thanks to this training.

The door from where most of the noise was coming was half-open, revealing three figures. The one who Alistair noticed and recognized immediately was Eamon, though his hair was grayer, longer, and he had apparently taken to copying Cailan's hairstyle. Come to think of it, perhaps it was a symbol of loyalty to the crown or something; Maker knew Cailan was (_had been_, his panicky nature suggested quickly) vain enough to make a royal decree about that kind of thing…

Anyway, aside from that, he was apparently of the opinion that a long beard made him look younger, which couldn't be farther from the truth.

The other two were much closer to Alistair's own age and, even if they weren't bickering, he would have been able to tell that these were siblings. The tall man with sienna-colored hair had the same stance as the auburn-haired woman, similar gesticulation and, of course, both seemed to want the complete opposite of one another.

"Sari – Sari listen to me!"

Alistair was actually a little dazed; the noblewoman was beautiful, without a doubt, in a fresh-green gown and golden jewelry. There were no weapons within reach that made her seem intimidating, and even though she was scowling, there was dignity in that gesture.

"Nooo I don't wanna!" In fact, right up to the point when she stomped her foot and started pouting, Alistair thought the king business might not be so bad. "'s not fair, not fair not _fair_ that that I always have to do the dirty work!"

The shrillness of her voice made him reconsider that stance. Almost.

"Hey, you weren't stuck in a Chasind voodoo doctor hut for a year." the man countered, obviously recalling the needles he had been forced to endure.

"No, I just had to trek through the icky mud and the cold and the mean darkspawn and stuff!" Sari whined, "Of _course_ you didn't have it bad!"

"Remember that puppy we got for my fifth birthday? You started screaming and got him at once!"

"Nuh-uh, just because he didn't wanna imprint on you…"

Arl Eamon looked vaguely exasperated, but more annoyed than anything. "Eh, that's all well and good-"

"And when you were thirteen, you stole my hamster and made him your doll!"

"Keep Mr. Fluffikins out of this!"

"-but we really need you to be queen." Credit had to be given to how professionally Eamon managed to ignore all this childishness and get down to business. "Public relations, you understand – the whole hero business made you top story in the tabloids and if you don't tie the knot, well, a negative marketing campaign could ruin our tourney."

"Don't lie to me!" Sari huffed, pointing an accusing finger at him. She hadn't been brought up on Disney movies to be ignorant of terminology. "Princess-consort is the title, I know, I saw the paperwork! Just 'cause that peroxide Princess Leia-wannabe doesn't know when to quit, get a nose job and start over…"

"But that's just a title – meaningless, really." Eamon hastened to add. Besides, he'd casually try to stop Anora's food rations from getting to her in the tower anyway, so there shouldn't be a problem on the long run… "You'll have all the privileges of a queen."

Sari let out a most un-ladylike snort. "Hah."

"The king isn't a bad catch." her presumed brother chimed in, prompting his eyebrows to do the waggling equivalent of a tango.

Alistair carefully surveyed the potential queen now. Childishness aside – he was childish himself, he could admit that much – she hadn't yet showed any trait that would require severe attention. Besides, she was pretty… and if she loved him, then that would overcome all obstacles…

The noblewoman's nose wrinkled "Have you _smelled_ him?"

Okay, that might be a problem.

"Eh, no?"

"And that cheese he always carries around?"

That was it right there; not only did she look displeased, her brother – and even the Arl, for Maker's sake! – waved their hands in front of their faces, as if to clear the air. Then it was personal, obviously. Alistair decided to make it his business to issue decrees about cheese-making that would make life miserable for all of them.

_No one_ insulted the cheese. No one.

"Good point." the nobleman conceded, already running through his imagination for further ideas.

Eamon was quicker. "Eh, wealth and prestige?"

"Already have that." Sari waved a dismissive hand.

"I'd say admirers, but I shouldn't, really."

"Yup." She looked rather perky for a moment there, though, and Alistair was struck by the uneasy feeling that the future queen was likely to have other admirers anyway.

The Arl was now getting a little panicky, because there wasn't much else he could suggest, apparently. Fortunately the other nobleman was making wild gestures towards his sister's necklace and the golden embroidery on her dress. Eamon didn't get it for a minute or two, but then finally understood when subjected to a rather painful Snow White impression.

"Eh… a lot of sparkly jewelry?"

Sari's green eyes lit up immediately, like a lawyer that smelled fresh blood. "_Sparkly_? Ooooh…. Is it pretty and pink and glittering?" Her last semblance of maturity waved and left the door with a flourish.

"Yes… Ah, the Queen of Ferelden has only the best, being the representative of the country. We do want to look cultured, after all."

"You have to admit, that doesn't sound that bad…" Her brother personally went for the greasy oil salesman angle, giving her a broad grin that would have made any sane person back away, very slowly.

Sari pondered this deeply, thinking about the pros and cons. "Well, if it's shiny… shiny…. Precious… shiny… _Alistair_!" she squealed, spotting him in the doorway.

Curse the shiny armor, the unwilling king thought, gulping.

Fortunately, the other two men seemed just as embarrassed as he was about this, but much quicker on the uptake; they leapt into action at once.

"Alistair!"

"My liege!"

"Uh, ah… hi." This was the best Alistair could manage.

"What a coincidence!" the unfamiliar nobleman said, showing more teeth than a mabari breeding ground. "We were just talking about you!"

"Why are you wearing only half of your armor?" Eamon asked, critically inspecting the distinct lack of shininess. "Did Teagan try to teach you those clown routines again? I told him that he can't go found a dance-break or break-dance or whatever troupe he wants to, he has responsibilities!" the Arl grumbled, making a mental note to increase his brother's pill dosage. "You mustn't be so easily impressionable; he'll get over that phase."

"Right." Alistair deadpanned, refusing to get sidetracked this time. "Arl Eamon-"

Which was kind of hard to do when a young woman launched herself at you, inspecting the heavy armor you were wearing.

"Oooh, shiny!" she cooed, admiring the reflective abilities more than the reflection itself. Then, realizing something, her head snapped towards Arl Eamon, the look in her eyes pure spoiled brat. "Hey, why don't I get shiny armor, hah? _Hah?!_"

"Sari, please." Her brother rushed in to restrain her before she could try to throttle Eamon, once again flashing a too bright smile to Alistair. It was sort of marred by having to hold the struggling and whining woman in place. "Your majesty, we were just discusing the wedding plans. I think a short engagement sounds best, don't you? Reap the benefits of defeating the archdemon before the public forgets and all that."

Sari recovered, though, and wiggled her way out of the grip. She immediately rounded up on Arl Eamon once more, calculating. "Sooo if I marry the imbecil- I-I mean the _dashing_ heir apparent, I get my crown, my own, my precious…" she muttered, twirling her fingers a little bit.

"Well, theoretically, it doesn't seem the monarch wears a crown in Ferelden…"

"Lost!" the pseudo-queen wailed, a step away from throwing accusations. "My precious is lost! Cousland! Cousland!" she coughed, sounding inches away from spewing her guts on the floor.

Alistair wasn't quite certain what to say to that. "Pardon? Eh, Gesundheit?"

"No, no, that's my name!" Sari scowled, because he was supposed to remember this stuff. "Cousland."

"I always thought it sounded somewhat Orlesian." Eamon noted before Alistair was forced to embarrass himself with some sort of reply. In any case, he voiced the very question Alistair was thinking, so there wasn't any denying that silence was golden. "Why do you keep saying it, anyway?"

"We couldn't pronounce it right when we were little, so Papa had the bright idea to lock us in a room with a parrot who could only say this word until we learned." the Cousland brother remarked, still maintaining that vaguely psychotic smile before coughing himself. "Cousland!"

"That's… disturbing. And sort of sad." For the parrot, it must have been downright traumatizing. Alistair found himself vaguely wondering if the unfortunate creature was still alive. And – oh, Maker – he'd have to meet their _parents…_ "But what I wanted to know is-"

"We're handling everything, don't worry, your majesty." Cousland interfered, showing him a list of fabric samples, several possible wedding invites and two plastic cake designs. "From the guest list to the color of the napkins."

"Right, yellow."

"No, mauve!"

"I thought we'd agreed on green?"

"Not shiny enough!" Yellow was apparently only a compromise on Sari's part. "It needs glitter, _glitter_!"

"As you can see, we have things perfectly under control here." Cousland really did look like a psychopathic manchild when his left eye twitched and his smile looked just a little too wide…

Alistair, knowing that he couldn't do the reasonable action and back away slowly, tried to be diplomatic about this. "Obviously. Gentlemen, if it were possible, I'd like to speak with my… my bride. Alone. Without interruption." He added this when they made no move to vanish.

"But we haven't finished picking out the patterns on the bathroom curtains!" Eamon protested, very personally attached to this issue. "I still don't think ponies are fit for a king…"

Sari's eyes turned steely at this mention. "The ponies stay."

"I really think-"

"The ponies stay!" she roared, looking impressively royal at this point. "Gus, write down the first royal decree of Queen Abhisarika: pony curtains for everyone!" Her brother, an obedient sycophant, dutifully obeyed. Gleefully, even.

"Bu-but… they don't match the rest of the décor!" Eamon protested as Gus tried to drag him away. "They're not properly pink!"

Gus responded by knocking him over the head with the flower garland catalogue. "Silence, minion! You kids just keep doing what you're doing, leave this joker to me." He smiled brilliantly, mouthed _neckline_ to Sari, and dragged an unconscious Eamon out of the room.

Alistair was vaguely beginning to think that he should have grabbed some of the pills off Teagan before vanishing.

"So, uh, Sari…"

"Naw, don't use that nickname." Oh, thank the Maker, she was almost normal with her brother gone! "Gus spent two years with Chasind, you know, plus he was never one to study cultures too much – he doesn't know what a sari is. Or an asari, for that matter." she added, chortling a little. Poor Fergus, stuck with a Nintendo when she already had an X-Box. More's the pity. "Abby's fine."

Normalcy. Alistair thought that he saw just a flicker of it, somewhere in the distance.

"Abby, this marriage… you really want that?" That was the serious question; Alistair couldn't really fathom that any woman would want to marry him; and with her, he even had doubts if he was just a way of getting what she obviously truly wanted. "Because I-I don't really know if you just want me or a crown. If forced to choose, you seem intent on picking the latter."

"Oh, don't be so silly. The precious and you come in one package. Unfortunately." she muttered, but then started coughing again, her voice vaguely squeaky yet broken. "Cousland, Cousland! And we must have the precious, yes. So anything goes, really."

"But… would you want me if I wasn't going to… be king?" One assurance would be enough, so Alistair gently prodded. "If you didn't know who my father was?"

"I thought we were past this phase." Abby frowned. "You have more secrets you conveniently forgot to mention? Aside from your royal father, your grubby sister and your Vegas show girl mother?"

Alistair was mortified, just like he had been when first told of what was commonly known as the Bellagio incident among those in on the public secret. "When did I tell you that?"

"You didn't, not really. You kind of talk in your sleep. And snore quite loudly. That's rather irritating, by the way."

"How would you- oh." Well, there goes that question. Alistair _felt_ his ears turning red and the armor wasn't helping keep him cool. "So we have-ah, I mean…"

"You suggested it!" Abby accused, shutting her eyes tight for a moment. "I thought I was the traumatized one, Cousland, Cousland. Not even the precious could save me from that."

By this point, though, Alistair wasn't listening too much to those mutters; another thing occurred to him. He combined the words king and marriage to arrive at the logical conclusion.

"But wait. If I'm going to be king… that means I'll need an heir. You're a Grey Warden." At least, he thought she was. The squirrel spirit had claimed that these women were all to be potential Wardens; and Kea the ninja and Kim the pyromaniac had certainly matched the potential Warden standard. Not sure about Bel the templar-addict, but this woman… could she even fight? Alistair wasn't certain. But she nodded, so then she had to be. "You do realize that having an heir – us together, I mean – is next to impossible."

"You said so a few times." Abby nodded impeccably.

"Not that I want to appear, ah, impolite, but… why did I agree to this marriage?"

"I didn't ask you." Again, the green of her eyes shone brightly and the girl put two and two together. Not even the armor he was wearing could keep Alistair from feeling as if the finger she pointed at him accusingly was jabbing straight at his collar bone. "Hey, are you trying to weasel out of this?! You're not taking away my shiny, my precious!"

"Hey, hey, I didn't mean it like that!" Alistair recoiled quickly. Shouting, he could handle, but tears… tears were just beyond his capacity. "I'm just trying to figure things out here – if my w-wife is a Grey Warden, then the royal line has a very good chance of ending with me."

The word _wife_ calmed her just as much as it unnerved him, so she actually thought about things for a moment. "If it bothers you that much, I could always get some young hot lover and get myself preggers that way."

"No, no, it just doesn't make any sense to me- wait a minute." Alistair remembered the _I didn't ask_ answer. "Did I agree to this marriage?"

Finally, Abby flushed, looking rather adorable, in a caught-with-my-hand-in-the-cookie-jar kind of way. "Eh, I kind of sort of announced it… sorry about that." she muttered quickly.

"But then I'm not really engaged to you. I didn't agree to this, did I?"

"You didn't say no?" Abby suggested quickly, grasping at straws.

Alistair wasn't certain what caused him to forget that he could end this situation whenever he wished, but he found himself babbling, faced with a wide-eyed noblewoman. "What I mean to say is… this whole king thing… it's a little hard to adapt to and marriage is a big step… maybe we should wait a little longer, you know?" Didn't women usually give these excuses? LGet to see how we work together outside of a life-and-death environment, how out normal-life interactions play out… that kind of thing..."

He barely finished speaking when Abby started throttling him, a maddened gleam in her dialated pupils. "Noooo! They promised me the precious! The precious has to be ours!"

Her brother and Arl Eamon practically fell out of the doorway, not even bothering to hide their eavesdropping any longer. In particular, the Cousland brother didn't seem fazed at all, compared to Eamon's rather predictable babbling shock.

"Milord, you should have mentioned that your preferences run the other way!" Cousland still looked as much of a lunatic as ever, only this time, there was a vaguely familiar glint of depravity in his eyes. "If I may, I humbly offer to sacrifice my freedom for the sake of Ferelden – the marriage can be a formality."

Abby was quicker on the uptake than Alistair – or had more blood in her brain now than him, considering the minor throttling – and rounded up on her brother at once, leaving her fiancé gasping for air. "Gus! You're trying to steal my shiny!"

"Aw, come on, Sari, you got the mabari, lemme get the love interest!" Cousland whined, trying to get a good grip on his sister's hair. "My backstory is more tragic than yours!"

"Is not!"

"Is too! Dead ex trumps everything!"

Eamon had recovered by this point, the last shred of stabilizing influence in this bizarre vision.

"Well, that ends this plan." He then turned to the flabbergasted king, dignity still intact. "Alistair, we don't need any Cousland to legitimize your reign anymore, so perhaps… well…" It was the time for a rapid recalculation. "Seeing as Isolde was sacrificed in the war and I already intend to name myself your mentor… we might as well tie the knot." Eamon suggested, in all seriousness.

"W-_what_?" Alistair stumbled over every single word, unable to keep down the perplexing vision of Eamon in a wedding dress.

Would he shave his beard for the occasion?

Eamon, ever-willing to _help_ the king, was very ready to sacrifice himself in such a profitable arrangement. "After all, we do know each other well enough, so that's not a problem… though if you want, you can always keep the Couslands as lovers and- Alistair?" The future king had mysteriously vanished – probably to get more of that foul cheese he was so fond of. That would be the first thing to go from this household when he was in charge, Eamon thought. Cheese gave him such wicked ideas of independence. "Now where did that boy wander off to…"


	4. She's all Clueless

Long time no update, but only two ladies left after this chapter! I decided not to do the obvious thing and go straight to the Dalish elf, so here you have the first of the possible dwarves. Two chapters and a short epilogue left, so stay tuned! Hopefully, it won't take nearly as long as this one did.

One thing's for certain, though: this story will get finished!

**o.O.o**

**She's all Clueless**

**o.O.o**

What woke Alistair next was a sharp pat to his back, making him almost stumble over his own feet. The young Warden blinked owlishly, glancing around; it was early morning, he was in the mountains and… there was Duncan and a few of the others, in full armor, heading uphill with him. Save for the chilly surroundings that Ostagar most certainly didn't contain, Alistair could have almost believed that he had just woken from a very realistic and highly disturbing vision.

He had intended to make amends with Arl Eamon eventually, but after this… it was just more difficult by the minute.

However, it was difficult to ignore the general proximity of the other Wardens for any given amount of time, especially considering that the one who had whacked him was the thoroughly bear-like Gregor. The man would have likely toppled any of them over if they weren't clad in heavy cloaks and wearing more blankets than a circus parade needed for a tent.

"I would think you'd be far more enthusiastic about the proceedings, lad!" Oh, so the chiding was directed at him. Well, never let it be said that he didn't enjoy something he had no idea about and so couldn't properly converse about. "Getting invited into the Orzammar royal palace is a rare treat, even for Grey Wardens!"

Orzammar, the major dwarven city left in this part of Ferelden. Alistair dug through his many-layered gloves and once again located the MacGuffin ring on his finger. Which meant that he had been fortunately transported away from his own wedding (shudder) to a more bearable fantasy. No matter what the would-be lady Warden was in this reality, at least he had his surrogate family at his side. One thing was for certain, though – he had managed to skip the Dalish elf and gone straight for one of the two dwarven ladies.

It ought to be interesting, he supposed, though Alistair would be the first one to admit that he knew very little about dwarven culture. One thing he did know, though.

"I suppose I'm just a little jittery about being underground for such a long time… I guess." Alistair had never been much of an actor, truth to be told, so he stuck with the few things he could say honestly about the situation. "Don't the dwarves have any kind of openings? How does air get inside, anyway?"

He had been a bit distracted by the elves back there in the portrait gallery that he had paid little attention to the others; now, he was sort of regretting it. Abby the human had been attractive, certainly, but there was a trend of mild to severe craziness among his potential bachelorettes.

"The gates of Orzammar are hardly locked to the surface world." Hearing Duncan's voice, though, was somewhat reassuring. Alistair couldn't say he was really close with any of the other Grey Wardens, but their leader's presence was a calming influence. "There are always methods. Besides, the dwarves themselves might share your fears; having no ceiling above them is very disorienting to first-time surface visitors."

Even if Duncan did like to show off a bit with his yo-yos and refused to cut his hair, despite how practical that would be. And, of course, no matter where they went, the Wardens had to check the nearest jewelry store for possible accessories to his armor. It was getting a bit ridiculous. Considering that all the Wardens had to be at least a little bit loopy in the head, though, Alistair wasn't too bothered by a few mild eccentricities. Compared to the strange hairdos of some others, it was actually very minor.

"That makes sense. So, how long are we going to be here, then?"

"For the entire festivities, apparently. I doubt King Endrin will let us just pass through."

"The feast isn't the first thing on your mind?" Gregor would have chortled normally, but this time, he actually looked vaguely alarmed. "You'll insult our hosts that way. Or are you that anxious to see the Provings?"

"I'd say he's anxious about seeing the princess, the rascal!" There was a general guffaw from the Wardens, who exchanged secret handshakes and sent a few messenger pigeons to the local tabloids.

While Alistair's location and occupation wasn't widely known, the fact that Maric had been adventurous, to put it politely, was quite an open secret. They knew mostly because on the rare occasions Duncan drank, he tended to get chatty about all sorts of things, including his glamour days years ago that were documented in several novels and how he became a Warden mostly because some guy called Obi-Wan Kenobi beat him during a mysterious wise mentor contest and got his dream job. Something about him being too Jewish or too black; he was usually too drunk to remember at this point.

Needless to say, the tabloids were usually full of the strangest reports from the "trusted sources" from inside the Wardens, leading to the group becoming rather mystifying to the general public. Some of their members made a hefty side income feeding the gossip columns by providing them with news about anything and everything after distorting the news for kicks and giggles. The life of a possible royal bastard included.

However, Alistair primarily focused on a single word.

"Princess?" he asked, blinking owlishly. "What princess?"

He knew the Couslands by name as a very influential noble family, but as for dwarven nobility… well, he knew that any of them wouldn't hesitate to poison a person's cheese if they believed it would bring them honor and advancement. Even the name of their king escaped him, really.

"The whole celebration is in honor of Endrin's only daughter – eh, I forget her name." The Warden waved his hand dismissively, continuing. "Dwarven names are long and clunky. We'll all be addressing her as Lady Aeducan anyway, if we see her. She's a warrior of renown, though, and it's rumored that she'll be named commander of Orzammar's army."

"I'd have thought she'd be long married off and attempting to have children." Another of the group remarked idly. "There's no further heir down in the royal line aside from Endrin's three children."

"Isn't it difficult to find a spouse if you're limited to just one city? I mean, Orzammar is probably large, but-"

"_Probably_ large?" Laughter at his expense was something Alistair was rather used to, at least when it was good-natured. "You'll regret saying that and wish for Denerim's simplicity soon enough, Alistair. Just try not to say it out loud to any of the dwarves."

A few eyerolls later, the Warden continued. "In any case, the reason I mentioned the princess is that she'd be an excellent Warden candidate, but circumstances being what they are… well, we're already going into the Deep Roads anyway, so we could try to recruit her, I guess." He added to Duncan, shrugging.

"Just make sure you do it after we've eaten." Another roar of laughter, but an agreeable one. The Wardens spent most of their royal allowance on food anyway, so it was no surprise that they would want to stuff themselves silly before making their way into the Deep Roads.

Alistair didn't even want to know why they were going there, of all places, but after fingering the cheap ring on his finger, he was somewhat reassured. It was highly probable that he wouldn't be forced to set foot there just yet, assuming he got to see this princess – likely the possible Warden recruit of this universe – before their journey there.

"I doubt we'll be recruiting anyone during our stay here." Duncan's words came as a surprise this time; however real or not this world might be, Alistair knew that recruitment of possible Wardens always took priority. However the next words made sense. "You must remember that the dwarves have their own contingents for fighting darkspawn and are reluctant to leave. I would rather not conscript without cause today."

"Without an excuse, you mean."

"Don't worry; the dwarves are careful about not giving us one." Gregor, always one for stringing pub-owners into kicking them out before displaying the Warden credentials, once again almost knocked a man off his feet with a good-hearted whack. "It'll be a challenge."

**o.O.o**

The dwarves proved to be hospitable enough, despite their constant attempts to get him to eat those weird bunny-pigs they always had around. It seemed like everyone was watching everyone and the room was without air if not without winds of whispers. In any case, Alistair found he rather liked Orzammar. Mostly because he understood so little about it; he didn't know any of the high-ranking nobles, nor did he care to know too much. It seemed like the kind of place where even knowing someone's actual middle name could get you into trouble, assuming someone found out.

In any case, the ale was wonderful, even though the rest of the Wardens were apparently once again betting how many sips it would take to have him giggling like a fool all evening. Considering that all this was just an incredibly vivid dream, Alistair decided to ignore them and save most of the wonderful drink for after he saw the princess, assuming she showed up. Most casual conversations around them were about her many virtues – or what dwarves would consider virtues, anyway, considering the creative ways to dispose of deepstalkers she had apparently invented – and so far, she sounded almost normal.

Then, of course, his peace and quiet and wondering how come there wasn't a single good kind of cheese on the table had to be interrupted by the loud trumpeting of several criers, who practically stomped on one another while trying to announce a most important occurrence. Finally, one bit the other in the ear and managed to stay on top long enough to shriek out the message.

"Presenting Her Royal Highness Princess Ekenesenarhienrhien, Lady Aeducan, the new commander of the Army of Orzammar and creator of the award-winning double-cheese Nugburger recipe!"

Alistair forgot the name immediately, because it was quite possibly the longest of all of those he had heard on this strangest day of all. It began with and e, but, fortunately, he knew he wouldn't have to address this one as anything other than milady. So it was all right.

He hoped.

The comfortable thing with dwarves was that he hardly needed to stretch in order to see the princess arrive. She came in with a single escort, an armored dwarf who looked like the entire gathering was the most boring thing he'd ever seen, yet maintained an image of politeness. And then… there she was.

Lady Aeducan (it was much easier to remember) was of average height for a dwarf, sporting chin-length hair with several ornamental braids to give her a more regal look. Like the two princes everyone flocked to in her absence if not bothering her throne-occupying father, she was fair, somewhat tanned and wore armor that gave the distinct impression of a seasoned and high-ranking warrior. She also had the same practiced smile and cold eyes that easily spoke of death in the case of a betrayal. At least she was without that odd wiry moustache one of her brothers kept twirling around his fingers. The dark coloring wouldn't look nice on her.

In any case, she addressed all those that approached her with a radiant smile that was a bit reminiscent of Cousland, but never became much too wide. Aside for the difference in race and rank, she seemed perfectly normal. By this point, though, Alistair knew better than trust a first impression so easily.

Stealthily (because he _could_ be sneaky when it was required), the young Warden made his way towards the crowd that now surrounded the princess and tried to listen in to the conversation.

Of course, being at least two heads taller than everyone else, he was spotted before he even moved two steps towards them, but got deemed stupid-looking, but harmless by an ever-observant Gorim.

The approaching Warden was only brought to a halt by a squeak-like giggle that apparently came from the lady herself. Afterwards, laughter continued all around, though Alistair hadn't heard the punchline of the joke.

"-migod, guys, did you see what Trian was wearing two hours ago? That ribbon was so last season – and he attempted to cover it up too, poor sod! You are what you wear, like I always say."

The princess had a chirpy voice, rather like a hummingbird on caffeine, and gesticulated twice as wildly when excited. However, this energy seemed to have brought a new kind of karma into the room and everyone seemed a little less cutthroat than a minute ago. It was only now that Alistair noticed that most of the party guests had her likeness displayed on some tacky piece of jewelry, their weapons signed by her.

The very few dwarves younger than the princess even had dolls that lucked suspiciously like her lying around. Somewhere, there even was an ornamented _My Lady Aeducan_ box lying around, though it had apparently disappeared in the meantime.

The conversation continued like this for about a minute until Alistair felt a jab near his ribs that notified him to the presence of the remainder of the Wardens, who had apparently taken some pity on him. For the entirely wrong reasons, though, if Gregor's near-psychotic grin and almost good natured eyebrow-wiggle in the princess's direction.

Before Alistair could protest or even blush properly, Duncan had apparently managed to negotiate the social necessity of greeting the princess properly on this, her night of nights. The bored-looking dwarf had managed to somehow claw his way to his mistress, his sardonic eyes softening with every step, and assumed a position right at her left ear; a spot no one contested him for, meaning it was more than likely where he belonged.

He spoke with minimum lip motion, almost like a ventriloquist, but the audibility of his words nullified the purpose of that skill quite effectively. In any case, it wasn't entirely hard to guess what he intended to say.

"Milady, the Grey Wardens would like to request a moment of your attention."

The princess blinked, her eyes searching around a bit at this tidbit of information. She found them quickly, but not even the exotic sight of the Wardens could maintain her attention for very long. "Oh, right, those guys. I was kinda wondering what they were doing here, being like, so tall and stuff. Good thing we have high ceilings here, or they'd have to crawl around like nugs, right?"

There was a general round of laughter at this, including a few high-fives. Snorting giggles seemed particularly popular among most of the crowd. However, this was apparently the cue for the sardonic dwarf to squeeze back through the crowd of his lady's admirers and bring back news of this positive development to a waiting audience.

"The Lady will see you now." Not that he was obligated to look pleased about this development. However, he was remarkably dexterous in finding a way through the crowd. One reason for that was unquestionably the sword at his side.

The other was most likely that this was the expected course of action.

The dwarves parted for them this time, without any kind of fuss, and Alistair could observe the newly elected commander at a short distance. Her armor was more ornamental than that of most of the warrior-dwarves around, abundant in gold and red. Aside from that, the princess had an abundance of hair-clips decorating her braids and matching jewelry strategically scattered in places where it wouldn't impede her movement but served its purpose easily.

Meanwhile, Duncan was already bowing to the lady, earning himself some more space and an indulgent smile or two from a few of the dwarves. Another jab to the ribs alerted Alistair to the fact that he was staring and his manners remained sub-par.

"Lady Aeducan." Duncan was saying, which meant that attention was required. "It is my honor to congratulate you on your recent appointment."

"Totally thanks for that." the princess waved the praise off, but it seemed a sincere sentiment, despite her odd sentence structure. "I mean, it was kinda obvious that I'd, like, get it in the end and stuff."

"Indeed, no one can match my dearest sister's prowess in battle… not to mention there was no one else competing for the post specifically created for her benefit."

A similarly armored dwarf had made his way towards them; Alistair recognized him as one of the two princes. The younger one; the one with the military haircut and a black moustache he kept twirling around his fingers whenever given the possibility.

"Bhe-bhe, I totally didn't see you there!" the princess squealed, giving an almost stage-laugh at her own lack of attention. Then, remembering her manners, she turned her attention back to her guests. "Grey Dudes, this is my little brother, Prince Bhelen. You know about our visitors here, right?" Her brother indicated the affirmative, but she wasn't really paying attention at this point. "They were just about to tell me their names, I think."

"No need to worry about that, sister." Bhelen was speaking through gritted teeth, but maintained his unfaltering smile while adjusting his imposing top hat and sinister-looking black cloak. "It isn't as if you'd remember them before inventing your own nicknames anyway."

"True!" the princess laughed, then nudged her brother in the shoulder with a secretive wink. Apparently, she was also stronger than she looked, considering he nearly doubled over. "Anyway, how's that secret girlfriend of yours doing? Am I gonna, like, meet her anytime soon?"

At the sight of his sisters all too wide grin, Bhelen actually went red, looking like a tomato about to burst. "You promised not to tell anyone!"

"Yah, but I need pictures or a visit to make sure I win that bet with Lady Dace. The ladies are totally still not with me on the belief that you're not, you know, batting for the other team and stuff." the princess explained, giving a few winks and meaningful looks to make her point clear. "That moustache doesn't help, you know."

"Your concern for my well-being is most heartwarming, dear sister." Alistair sort of wondered how come the dwarf's teeth were still intact, considering how much he kept clenching them all the time. Then, he gave an ironic half-bow to his sister and the others. "I hope you enjoy today's celebration to the most. You never know when such moments may vanish and never return." And, with a distinctly non-threatening puff of black smoke, he was gone.

The princess was completely oblivious to that bit, though.

"Like last year's fashions, hopefully. Those nug-fur coats were totally out of style and just plain wrong!" She groaned, then laughed, then regained her composure just as quickly. It was like looking at several people at once. "Anyway, isn't he awesome? Probably a little queer, I know, but I'm hoping I can fix that with a little fashion interest."

Alistair would have had absolutely no idea what to say, so he was highly thankful for the fact that this question was directed towards Duncan and not him. "I'm certain you know your brother best, Lady Aeducan."

"Totally, we're BFFs." the princess smiled brilliantly, bleached teeth sparkling with almost an unnatural shine. "I taught him how to braid his beard and everything." Then, the personal assistant of a dwarf that followed her around was whispering to her again and she noticed something beyond them, in the general vicinity of the king. "Well, I'm sorry, but daddy probably wants to see me now, celebration and all."

"Of course." Duncan was bowing his head again, which by now Alistair understood as an action to be mimicked, so he did the same before anyone could elbow him in the ribs. It led to some disappointment on the part of the elbowers, but they coped. "Don't let us keep you."

"Well, I might let some of you keep me in a different situation, but I'm not trashy like or anything." the princess commented, winking at the Wardens and sauntering off with her posse. "Later!"

It took Alistair several moments to actually get over the fact that he'd been appraised like a cow for the slaughter several times within the past few minutes, along with the fact that he hadn't actually spoken to this woman at all. Not that he'd know what to say; dwarven customs were definitely odd.

"She seemed… eh… nice?" he remarked cautiously when Duncan appeared to be checking him for potential Run Away Screaming symptoms.

"Dwarven culture is very different from ours. You'll get used to it. Hopefully. Anyway, they won't try their political tricks on you, Alistair. There isn't any point."

"Besides, from what I gather, dwarf women go for beards." Gregor noted philosophically, stroking his own. "So you're out of luck here, son."

"I see. Comforting."

**o.O.o**

The festivities lasted for the better part of the afternoon, when Alistair managed to witness some of the goriest battles ever during the proving. The princess had apparently decided to join in later on and actually won the battles meant to be done in her honor. This was the first candidate Alistair had seen fight properly – not with spells he could barely make sense of, but with an actual blade. The petite dwarf was proficient with a number of deadly weapons, including the manicure set, a nasty collection of tweezers, truly ancient nailpolishes and, worst of all, a brand new make-up kit that very easily forced people into submission. There was a vindictive streak to the young woman, for certain.

Other than that, it was actually a rather enjoyable evening. Alistair was surprised by this, considering the other candidates had forced him to flee before he could even find out anything meaningful about them. Here, it was the opposite extreme; the princess was the centre of attention for all around them, so it was very difficult to get close to her, not to mention speak with her. Still, Alistair was determined to give it a shot and at least exchange greetings.

He managed to eventually spot a moment when the princess excused herself from the ever-continuing festivities in her honor.

The party continued without her, as dwarven festivities apparently continued until all of the guests collapsed from ingesting too much beer. By the time Alistair managed to get out of the grand chamber, he managed to witness about seven really mean twister games that could turn into potential orgies, got propositioned at least thrice and saw the beginning of a game of wicked grace with at least three packs of cards too many.

That was apparently still within the realm of normalcy.

Though Alistair wasn't too familiar with the layout of the palace, it was easy to guess where he was supposed to go – wherever there wasn't any kind of surveillance or anything looked at him funny.

Finally, he managed to hear the princess's voice not too far off. She was apparently talking to just one person, but the voices stopped before he could locate them properly. Then, there were a few moments of silence… and suddenly the distinct banging and crashing of battle.

Thinking that there might be an opening for conversation right there, Alistair bravely rushed to the scene where he thought the noise was coming from. Unfortunately, it was a bit different than what he pictured. Not that he had imagined he might save the princess from some kind of ambush, but he certainly hadn't expected the weapon to be the assailant's… mouth.

The princess and the other dwarf shoved each other away with earth-shattering force, but the entangled state of their limbs didn't really allow for that kind of sudden movement. So instead, they tumbled off one another rather clumsily, bits of now loosened armor falling to the ground with a clunk and both participants struggling to cover up everything they could.

Not that the lipstick marks were apparently willing to vacate their spots all around the incriminating places.

"Oh, uh, hey, buff Grey Warden dude!" the princess hiccupped out, trying to untwist her undershirt.

"This –uh, this isn't what it looks like!" the other dwarf – it was the assistant, apparently – spluttered out while attempting to look inconspicuous. Given that his hair resembled like a lightning-struck chicken, this was harder than it sounded. "This is an… a dwarven protocolar necessity when stuck in a deserted dark corridor with a person you'd really like to shack up openly with a legally binding contract-"

"Gorry, sweetheart, you know I'd really really _really_ love to have you as my official boyfriend and have all the tabloids make us top couple instead of that total skank Beemo and her boy-toy." the princess said soothingly, looking a little mean-spirited about the whole thing. "I mean, I'd consider getting hitched with a sparkly enough ring, but…"

"I know, muffincakes." Gorim sighed theatrically, looking remarkably dignified considering the little nugs and hearts decorating his oversized boxers. "But you could try to ask your dada to get me made a noble next year instead of another tiara."

"Oh, cuddlepuddin', you know I will. It was just the newest fashion this year and I couldn't let anyone else trump me… besides, I never planned on being made commander and stuff. Like, if it were up to me, I'd get us together immediately, but someone had to do something about those icky uniforms our soldiers wear." The princess wrinkled her button-like nose easily; apparently, this was something that had offended her personally. "If you can't fight with style, you shouldn't fight at all."

Alistair was a little overwhelmed by the whole thing even after the entire minute of observing the situation. Despite his own innocence in matters of the physical, he had come across several maids and castle guards trying to look innocent while being all over one another. This was a remarkably similar situation to those moments.

Also, it was too much information, considering that he had yet to ask any kind of question.

"So, um, let me get this straight. You two are together, but you can't be together because of some kind of regulations?"

There was a general nod, but the princess started adjusting her make-up, so it was her servant who answered. "Lady Aeducan is very likely to be selected heir to the throne. The Queen of Orzammar cannot be married to anyone lower than noble caste."

"Which you're not."

"Oh, we have a smart one here, milady." the dwarf said snidely, which Alistair completely missed. "We should watch our backs."

"No, no, there's no need to be alarmed. I completely understand your predicament." Alistair didn't really know how things would actually work out if this pair was supposed to break up in the end. It was kind of a sad situation, really. "Is there any way I could… help?"

"Look, half-ducktail half-mullet guy?" the princess had a good look at him, finally actually focusing on him. "What's your name?"

"Alistair." Hastily, he added a half-bow to that introduction. This wasn't really how he had intended this greeting to go. "I came here with the Grey Wardens, if you remember, milady."

"What, you think I don't remember? I wouldn't forget those firm thighs so quickly." the princess replied crossly, pouting. "Anyway, Allie, you don't really need to do anything, just don't tell anyone about this, otherwise there will be trouble."

"But can't you just get married after you're crowned?"

"Nothing is certain yet… besides, if this gets out after that, we'll be panned by the tabloids." Gorim shuddered a little, imagining the sheer terror of the idea. "If it gets out before, it kills the career progression for bootycakes- er, for milady."

"So there isn't any way out of this? I mean, couldn't you just explain things to your father?" Alistair figured he was being a little too forward and informal here, but it was kind of a requirement now that he was in on the dirty little secret. "He seems to really care about you, after all. Couldn't he just make you a noble? He's the king, after all."

"Look, this isn't the surface; our ways are different to your foreign customs." Gorim retorted, making sure his hockey pads were all in place. "There's only one thing we can do."

"What's that?"

"Have a daughter, of course. Like, caste system and all that?" the princess rolled her eyes, looking somewhat perplexed by this idea. "Don't you surfacers have something like that?"

"Not really. Eh, it's pretty unique to Orzammar, I gather."

"For real? How do you keep the losers and hobos away?"

"Never mind that." Gorim looked a little bashful when the princess flashed the kicked puppy look, but there was no way he could just start apologizing now and get caught. "A female child would inherit milady's caste and elevate me to nobility as well."

"Wait a moment. You mean that you can't be together formally, but if you conceive a child, it will supersede your breach of protocol and allow you to get married?"

"In short. Has to be a girl, though."

"Yeah, there's no way I could deal with raising a boy; where'd we go shopping for proper things for him?"

"More importantly, a boy would be warrior caste, like me." Gorim added, looking somewhat annoyed by this whole need for exposition to a third party and went right back to his attempt to reorganize his clothes. "Now, if you'd be so kind, we have a kid to make here."

"Oh, uh, sure. I mean, ah… don't let me stop you or anything." They didn't, really, even though both strategically kept any kind of view out of his line of sight. "I'll just… go…" Not that either of them were listening to him any longer, or responding in anything other than short giggles.

"Well, that was awkward." Alistair muttered to himself a few moments later, wondering where he might best use his ring to get out of this odd reality. Then, he bumped into someone he recognized thanks to their swirly moustache. "Oh, Your Highness, pardon me."

"Grey Warden. I, ah, wasn't expecting to find you here." Bhelen looked around carefully, as if looking for a witness or conspirator around. Or possibly those tabloids Gorim had mentioned. "Have you… have you by any chance seen my sister around? Father is getting a bit worried about her…"

"Lady Aeducan? She- she definitely wasn't anywhere near here." Alistair said immediately. He couldn't break his promise this easily. "In fact, I haven't really seen her anywhere… since the celebration, really. She disappeared right afterwards."

Bhelen rolled his eyes theatrically, but got more information out of these few sentences than Alistair intended. "As usual. Her midnight rendezvous with Ser Gorim might very well be the worst kept secret of the palace."

"You mean you know about their… relationship?" Alistair's eyes went wide as saucers. Perhaps this was the one person he was meant to tell…

"I hardly think anyone doesn't at the very least suspect that something might be going on between them." The prince put on his least-greasy good-natured expression. Perhaps even less than that was actually required, given that he was obviously dealing with an honest-to-goodness simpleton. Possibly even a genuine moron. "They're only good at avoiding amateur tabloids who've made quite a lot of money selling My Little Aeducan doll sets."

"They sell doll sets of her?"

"Indeed." For some reason, this, of all things, was what upset Bhelen the most, if his expression was any indication. "Nessie is quite popular that way."

"What about you? Aren't you popular?"

"Unfortunately, the extra characters from the doll set had to be taken down from the market. Way too little revenue. Especially since she got the sparkly tiara accessories. For some reason, they couldn't implement it into my doll." And this was apparently the true reason to his anger. "It went great with my hair."

"I-I'm sure it did. Eh, well, if I can't really help you with this, I should probably go and see where Duncan and the others are." Alistair noted, gesturing around rather wildly in random directions. "A pleasure to meet you, though, Your Highness."

"Likewise, I'm certain." The prince retorted, giving the traditional dwarven headbut greeting that left Alistair rather woozy.

Of course, that was the moment when a gasp had to interrupt them, along with something that sounded like a muffled laugh. When Alistair regained his full vision, he saw the small crowd observing them from both ends of the corridor – one side consisted mainly of the princess, her servant and (judging by the sparkliness of his armor) the other prince. Somehow, the remainder of the Wardens arrived after them. The other end of the corridor got blocked by the remainder of the partygoers.

"Oh. My. Gawd." The princess punctured each gasp from the crowd with a word. "Bhe-bhe! This is a little too much! I was willing to tolerate you being poofy and all that, but a surfacer?"

"What? No!" Bhelen's eyes nearly popped from his head at the news. Then, he finally noticed that his siblings were apparently ready to team up against him. "I thought Trian was going to go through that way and catch you in flagrante!"

"Flags don't make good outfits, I thought you knew that." The princess rolled her eyes. "I thought I taught you that. This is worse than just you being weird."

"Frankly, Bhelen, you've been getting worse ever since you started pretending to have a girlfriend." The eldest brother added, looking rather bored and yet unsurprised by the whole thing.

"I am not pretending! Rica is real!"

"Ooh, we've got a name!" The princess squealed gleefully and snapped her fingers to get her lackey to attention. "Gorry, get me every broad with that name in Orzammar. I wanna see if she's a she, assuming she exists."

Alistair was rather unsurprised that everyone had forgotten him at this point, but there was no obvious way out of there.

Meanwhile, Gorim grinned, bowed and left, but not before giving his ladylove a kiss goodbye and an important reminder. "With pleasure, milady. Be sure to take your test in three hours, all right?"

"Sure, hon- eh, Gorry. Kisses."

"I am not gay!" Bhelen roared, still being ignored. "I can prove it! I have a girlfriend!"

"We'll see in a few hours." Trian murmured, earning a high-five from the princess. Which was another point of argument for the prince.

"You two were supposed to be against each other at this point!" he added, pointing at each of them accusingly. "Why are you trying to cooperate?"

Trian shrugged. "Well, we had a few cookies together before the celebration and decided to be nice to each other today. Nessie even shared her super secret recipe, so we kind of bonded."

"Yeah, we're cool now." the princess added, grinning as they made up a secret handshake on the spot. "'sides, it seems we're all going to need to cooperate if we're going to run this city eventually. All that brooding and angsting doesn't leave Trian much time to find a proper girlfriend, after all."

"Finding a woman that appreciates my bleaching and tanning habits is difficult." the dwarf prince harrumphed, sulking a little. "I'll stick to trying to bone random women and we'll deal with succession based on who has a kid first."

"And if neither of you manage to conceive? The chances of that are rather slim!"

"There's always adoption." Alistair suggested mildly, which was a decidedly bad idea in hindsight.

The three siblings all froze mid-drama, looked from one to another, and, the jig being apparently up, each drew a concealed weapon and brandished it menacingly. It was to be a duel to the death with a comb, a toy duck and a roll of toilet supplies.

Unfortunately, before Alistair could somehow get out of the small circle that had formed around them and reach his fellow Wardens, a surprise attack with a nearby window curtain managed to temporarily knock him out.


	5. Chapter 5

Apologies for the huge gap – I finally have time to continue my fanfic writing. If anyone still wants to see this story continued, please review/PM me and I will go on writing the story with the most support.


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